《The Nested Worlds》


 Prologue

    <h2>The Airship Make Your Own Fortune</h2>


    above the world-sphere of Talvi


    09.05.13.19.04


    Nils Civorage didn¡¯t believe in the calm before the storm.


    Airshipmen didn¡¯t, as a rule: a storm on the way was a race against time to make the ship ready, and even if that race was won and everything that could be made ready was ready, the rest was tense anticipation. Never calm.


    This coming storm, however, was different: it was one of his own making.


    The next four and a half days had been planned down to the minute to make use of every precious moment: Daylight hours were a currency on the Talvian earthmotes, and Nils had budgeted with enormous care.


    The challenge set for himself and his expedition was simple in concept, and anything but in execution. He should have been frantic with anticipation but instead, for the first time in his life, he was experiencing the calm before the storm. He listened to the gentle creak of the rigging, the muted conversation of his crew, the idling grumble of the engines and the cry and song of the birds they had attracted as the icy wind kissed him stingingly on the cheek.


    He turned his face toward it and closed his eyes as the chill caressed his face, savoring its bite. As the owner of a whole mining fleet he cut an impressive (and wealthy) figure at the prow, taking in the view. With his eyes shielded from the sun''s glare by his broad-brimmed hat and the furred collar of his long coat turned up against the arctic air of the outer worlds, there was little of Nils to be seen except for his shrewd calculating eyes, his waxed blond mustache and the pair of engraved dueling pistols on his hip alongside his sabre.


    His reverie was interrupted by a polite cough.


    ¡°Navigator says two minutes, sir.¡±


    Nils nodded, and consulted his own pocket-watch. ¡°Everything is ready...¡± he reassured itself.


    It wasn¡¯t a question, but Captain Jac Deragian took it as one anyway. ¡°When the bell rings, my lads''ll be a machine sir,¡± he asserted, probably more for his own benefit than for Nils¡¯. In defiance of the chill he was still wearing his shirt rolled to the elbows, though he had caved enough to cover his bald scalp with a knitted woolen tuque.


    ¡°Good. Every second is a precious commodity down there, Jac.¡±


    ¡°We know, Mister Civorage.¡±


    Nils nodded again, watching the seconds topple, glad that he had hired the very best. The darkness of Eclipse would be back in four days, thirteen hours, twenty-two minutes and fifty-six seconds from the moment the bell rang, and when it swept over the mining site then they would either have accomplished what they came here to do and he would return home as the richest man in all the Nested Worlds...or they might well all suffer a fate rather worse than mere death.


    The bell sounded, the peace burst, and Nils gladly threw himself into the business of watching half a lifetime''s work unfold with clockwork precision. Orders were shouted, wheels were hauled on, valves were opened and, with their engines thrumming, five airships descended down a column of sunlight to begin their incursion into the kingdom of perpetual darkness.


    Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.


    <hr>


    <h2>Ten years later</h2>


    The merchant girl was human, but with her delicate features, petite frame and hair the hue of falling leaves she could have passed for an elf, if not for the shape of her ears. She allowed the merry laugh that was always bubbling inside her to feed a bright smile as she caught the shaven-headed airshipman with the scar steal another glance at her. He blushed and redoubled his study of the wares on her market stall.


    All around them were other traders selling wonders and novelties from across the four Worlds, but one special customer had been drawn to her modest stall and its spread of trinkets. She couldn¡¯t blame him---who could fail to be captivated by an ebullient maiden, freckled of skin, autumnal of hair and sparkling of eye and smile?


    If he had been less enthralled, he might have found time to wonder why such a lovely creature was not being mobbed by other shipmen.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know¡­¡± he said, feigning reluctance. Airshipmen were always tight-pursed. ¡°Nothin¡¯ here much catches my eye¡­¡±


    The girl beamed at him. ¡°I know just what you''d like!¡± she announced, and dug through a chest under the stall to emerge brandishing a choice item.


    ¡°What is it?¡± he asked, taking it from her to examinine it with his good eye.


    ¡°Oh, just a mystery,¡± she beamed. ¡°It''s a puzzle box!¡±


    ¡°Oh...?¡± he smiled and leaned over the speak in a conspiratorial murmur. ¡°And what have you hidden away in this puzzle box?¡±


    She gave him her best and most scintillating smile, and touched a secretive finger to her lips. ¡°That''s for me to know and you to find out of course!¡±


    He chuckled, and then put the item down. ¡°I never was good with puzzle boxes,¡± he admitted.


    She issued a childish moan of disappointment and sat down on her wicker stool, pouting. ¡°I''m never going to sell anything!¡± she lamented.


    ¡°A beauty like you? Nonsense. You could sell a kiss on the cheek and be the richest trader here by nightfall!¡±


    She affected a blush. ¡°Thank you...¡± she murmured, and saw his heart melt.


    ¡°Oh, all right. You talked me into it!¡± he announced. ¡°How much for this thing?¡±


    ¡°Oh! You''ll buy it?!¡± She bounced up, all smiles and happiness again. ¡°Oh, um, I''m supposed to sell it for two steel.¡±


    He put three down on the counter with a smile and a wink. ¡°Three steel it is!¡± he announced. ¡°And a bargain for such lovely service.¡±


    With her best smile likely to linger in his memories for days, he took his purchase and vanished into the crowd with a winning grin and a wave.


    She waited until he was well out of sight, and then pulled her hood up and slipped away through the crowd.


    They have it, she thought.


    There was an echo in her head, like a thought that was not her own: Well done.


    For just a second, her perpetual joie de vivre flickered as she felt a twinge of guilt over the fate she had just arranged for her customer.


    It was, she reminded herself, for the greater good.


    <hr>


    Many ages had run their course since the hunter had last walked among these trees. None of them were familiar to him any more. Even measured against the long lives of Oak, Ash and Elm he was ancient, though his body was lithe and youthful. Generations of tree had grown and died since his last visit to this place, but the woods¡¯ secrets were an open book to his ancient eyes.


    He took care in picking his spot. Laying any trap was a matter of skill and planning, but this trap had a very specific prey in mind and was placed to intercept a trail that didn¡¯t even exist yet. Everything about it, from its position to its dimensions and the precise slope of its wall had to be perfect. A lesser hunter might have fallen short of the task, but this hunter was unequaled.


    He paused only once in his labor, when he heard voices and laughter not far away and stilled himself long enough for them to pass. Otherwise he worked without tiring, or pausing, or losing focus.


    Once it was finished, he stood back to allow himself a moment''s satisfaction that it was invisible. Even he with all his ages of experience could not have spotted it. It was, in fact, perfect.


    With a sigh of regret he knelt by his masterpiece, introduced just enough imperfection, and then departed. He took his time to enjoy his surroundings as he went ¨C he knew that it would be a long while before he next walked this ground again.


    A thought that was not his own tickled into his mind: They have it.


    Well done, he thought as he went.

 Chapter 1: Cavalier Queen

    <blockquote>


    ¡°The gas! Mark my words, if Dubhgall Kheegan ever sells the recipe for float-gas, it¡¯ll be ¡®cuz there¡¯s a knife to his throat. That stuff is the only reason his guild still exists. Clear Skies have swept up everything else. They¡¯ll own all the worlds in a few years¡­¡± ¡ªOverheard in the Gun and Drum, Crae Manaan, E?rrach.


    </blockquote>


    <h2>The Airship Cavalier Queen</h2>


    Near Long Drop City, Alakbir Earthmote, the world-sphere of Sayf


    09.06.03.06.03


    From the air, Long Drop City looked like somewhere only the suicidally daring would live. It most closely resembled a stubborn fungus on the trunk of some fallen tree¡ªa tumorous shelf of lightweight wooden platforms, cables, and hundreds of gas bladders latched precariously to the great five-mile cliffs where Alakbir''s rolling plains abruptly dropped off into open sky and, far below, the turning of the other worlds.


    In fact that alarming edifice was just the docking gantry. Long Drop was a guild city: the guild city, home of the Clear Skies Guild. Airships came and went like bees, each laden with cargoes from all over the four Worlds.


    Docking space was at a premium and Jerl Holten, captain and owner of the independent merchant Cavalier Queen, was acutely conscious of how little fuel his ship had left.


    It had been a long run up from the lower worlds. Enough to leave them running on fumes, which was usually a sure way to get brought in quickly. And yet instead they had been loitering in a holding pattern around Long Drop for three hours now. He had raised flags to signal their situation, and so far the only reply the semaphore tower would give them had been ¡®keep holding.¡¯


    With nothing better to do, he¡¯d lit his pipe and sat down atop one of the stacked crates full of Haustian hides that littered the deck, thumped his boots up onto the railing, and watched. It was a rare day when the skies were so open and clear of haze: he could see all four of the worlds. A perfect opportunity to just stop and take in the view.


    And what a view!


    Cloud-garlanded earthmotes, the largest of them thousands of miles across, hung unsupported in the sky in all directions; above and below, fore and aft, port and starboard. They drifted gently along their course, always turning their upper face toward the sun, segregated by altitude into the four so-called ¡°worlds:¡± Sayf, E?rrach, Haust and Talvi.


    From his vantage, Jerl could see the bright silver thread of rivers glinting in the sunlight. He could pick out the coastlines of distant inland seas and watch storms flash and boil silently far, far away. With a good telescope and a steadier surface to rest it on than the Queen¡¯s rolling deck, he might even have seen cities and roads.


    He would never fly over or visit even a fraction of them. The Worlds were just too big for any one man to explore in a lifetime, or even for any elf to have explored in several.


    Lower down where the shadows of higher worlds could pass over, life was progressively colder and more dangerous but up here on the innermost, the sun¡¯s full heat was close at hand and never eclipsed. Sayf was where the waters first rained down in periodic monsoons, to flow, depending on the earthmote, past scrubby deserts and badlands, or through steaming jungle and across lush irrigated farmlands before plunging over the cliff edges to bring rain and weather to the lower worlds. Sayf was home to endless rippling acres of wheat and corn, fertile grazing grasslands, haunting deserts and sun-kissed beaches. Sayf was civilization, and it was, appropriately to its name, safe.


    ...Well, it was safe from the Worlds¡¯ worst nightmares anyway. And those were nightmarish enough to make mere overcrowding and gang wars seem like paradise to some.


    He turned at the sound of feet joining him on the Queen''s forecastle. His quartermaster, Sinikka, greeted him with a long-suffering nod as she took the steps two at a time. Jerl had been enjoying the warmth in his shirt-sleeves, but Sin was dripping sweat and miserable from the heat.


    Being an ice elf, she hated their visits to Sayf.


    ¡°Derghan wants to know when we''ll land,¡± she growled. ¡°And I''d bloody well like to know too, nay?¡±


    By way of an answer, Jerl merely pointed the stem of his pipe toward the semaphore tower and shrugged. Sin made a disgusted noise and sat on a barrel of Cloudtreader Whisky. She didn''t bother seeking shade; the shadows were nearly as hot as the full glare of the sun in any case, and elves simply didn''t sunburn. Even if, as in her case, their skin was as perfectly, inhumanly flat white as snow.


    ¡°They''re taking their sweet time,¡± she complained.


    Twenty years had flown by since his father had first hired her on as quartermaster and occasional bodyguard. Other than a rakish scar or two and the truncation of one of her pointed ears, Sin looked much the same as she had on that day.


    Meanwhile, at thirty-two years old Jerl was soon going to have to admit that he was now a grown man.


    Looks were deceiving, though: Sin was an old soul*.* The Fey didn''t die like mortals, but instead were granted the gift of reincarnation. Upon death, their spirit migrated to be conceived, born and to grow up again in a new body, and reclaim their memories of lives past when they came of age. Sin had experience dating back to the first day and the weaving of the Worlds.


    All of which sounded like she really ought to be much wiser and more patient than was actually the case. Jerl resisted the urge to chuckle at her peevishness, and instead gave an amiable, patient shrug.


    ¡°Not much we can do about it,¡± he said. ¡°We might have enough fuel to make it to Overhang, but it¡¯d be a close run. And if Long Drop have to send a tug out after us because they kept us waiting, they''re the ones who pay for it anyway. We''ll dock soon enough.¡±


    Sinikka snorted ¡°There''s no such thing as ''soon enough'' for me.¡±


    Jerl glanced back at the semaphore tower, then dumped out his pipe over the rail. ¡°Well, you''re in luck, they''re calling us in,¡± he said. He stood and shouted down to the wheelhouse. ¡°Gebby! Green flag, bay twelve!¡±


    He turned to Sinikka as the helmsman called ¡®aye aye!¡¯ ¡°Better?¡±


    ¡°Ask me after I¡¯ve had a cold bath and a colder beer, nay?¡± A small smile finally touched her face before she tapped her knuckles on his arm, and turned away to shout the crew into order. Jerl chuckled and returned to his spot on the prow, already planning his own shore leave.


    He was overdue some time to relax.


    <hr>


    Docking an airship was a busy and hazardous business, but Long Drop¡¯s longshoremen were experienced professionals. As soon as the Cavalier Queen came close enough under her own power, men wearing light wings of wood and canvas threw themselves from the top of the gantry. Trailing ropes, they glided across and dropped onto the top of the ship''s gas envelope before swarming the rigging to attach guide cables, which pulled taut and drew the Queen safely into her cradle.


    The steel bars of the docking lock were rammed into place, there was a groan of wood and steel as the extra lift of ship''s gasbag altered the weight distribution of the whole gantry edifice, and then¡­comparative silence, broken only by the gantry¡¯s gentle creaking and the faint sounds of the Queen¡¯s engines cooling down.


    Jerl¡¯s crew leapt into action preparing to offload cargo, only to be left standing around in mounting confusion as the cranes and gangplanks failed to swing across.


    ¡°...Ah. Jerl?¡±


    Jerl knew and dreaded that ¡¯Ah.¡¯ It belonged to his good friend and advisor in all matters magical, Amir at-Bezwi, the Queen''s navigator. He was standing on the gangway, staring down at the jetty with a concerned expression.


    Jerl joined him. Amir was the taller man, but Jerl was undeniably the more solid thanks to a life spent hauling on ropes, moving cargo and, when necessary, fighting for his life. Amir, on the other hand, was a mathematician, navigator, cartographer and mage, none of which were pursuits noted for their physical strenuousness. He was also a useful man to know simply for his apparently perfect memory for names and faces, and as a native Alakbiri his dark skin and embroidered jubba and kufi blended right into the crowd in Long Drop.


    ¡°Problem?¡± Jerl asked. He looked to where Amir was pointing.


    At first, he didn''t see much out of the ordinary, only dock-hands checking the cables and tying off...then he saw the harbourmaster, in conversation with three men in somber gray clothing. The spokesman for the trio was a tiny, slight man with equally tiny and slight spectacles, whose remaining hair was as white as Sinikka''s. The other two were just hired muscle in well-tailored suits.


    ¡°You know him?¡±


    ¡°Mister Arthir Bellarn,¡± Amir said, ¡°and his ''colleagues'', Mister Coven and Mister Sterval.¡±


    ¡°Never heard of ¡®em.¡±


    ¡°Bellarn, Coven and Sterval is a law firm owned by the Clear Skies Trading Guild,¡± Amir said. ¡°Officially.¡±


    Guildsmen. Jerl resisted the urge to spit over the side, and settled instead for scowling at them. ¡°Go on¡­¡±


    ¡°Unofficially, Bellarn¡¯s job is to deliver very bad news, while Mister Coven and Mister Sterval make sure he doesn''t get hurt in doing so. We may be in trouble of some kind.¡±


    Jerl considered this. ¡°How much trouble?¡± he asked.


    Amir''s long, manicured fingers took a single thoughtful stroke of his beard ¡°I should spread the word that the lads need to grab anything they can''t bear to be parted from,¡± he said.


    Jerl frowned at him. ¡°You think they''ll impound the ship? We''re not carrying contraband.¡±


    ¡°I should still pass the word.¡±


    Long experience had taught Jerl that Amir''s advice was usually worth following. In any case, something was clearly amiss here. He nodded. ¡°Alright.¡±


    Amir nodded and bustled off to his cabin behind the wheelhouse to retrieve a few essentials, pausing only to alert a few crewmen. Very soon, the whole crew were sloping off below decks in ones and twos to grab their most precious personal effects. Jerl collected his coat, pistols and sword as well as a purse full of the Guild-backed steel and brass coinage from the ship''s coffers.


    He strode down the ramp with Sinikka and Amir in tow. Usually, he would have expected to meet the harbourmaster at the bottom, pay the usual docking fee and proceed to offload his goods. Instead there was Mister Bellarn smiling a faint, professional smile. Up close, Mister Coven and Mister Sterval were the classic nasty double-act: where Sterval was simply a very large man who watched the disembarking crew with the steady and empty gaze of a born thug, Coven was leaner, smaller and radiated an intelligent, patient sadism.


    ¡°Captain Jerl Holten, I presume?¡± Bellarn said, extending a spotted old hand. ¡°Mister Bellarn, of Bellarn, Coven and Sterval. A pleasure to make your acquaintance.¡±


    ¡°And a pleasure to make yours, Mister Bellarn¡± Jerl said, slipping into the smooth businesslike patter he adopted when negotiating with merchants. They shook hands. ¡°These are my quartermaster, Sinikka Nerissith, and Amir at-Bezwi my navigator. To what do we owe the pleasure?¡±


    ¡°Well, I do hate to be the bearer of bad news, Captain...¡± Bellarn handed him a letter. The seal had, sure enough, been imprinted with the circle and albatross sigil of the Clear Skies, the monster merchant guild that had already been a major player all across the worlds even before a sudden explosion in their fortunes over the last ten years. ¡°But I am afraid I must inform you that your ship and all its cargo is hereby impounded pending a complete guild investigation.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not a guild member.¡±


    ¡°No sir, but you have signed an independent trader¡¯s contract with the Clear Skies guild granting you permission to make port here, and the search is provided for by the terms of that.¡±


    Jerl glanced at Amir, who nodded.


    ¡°I see. And the reason for this investigation?¡± Jerl demanded as he cracked the wax seal.


    ¡°Routine random search,¡± Bellarn replied, a little too smoothly.


    Jerl grunted skeptically and scanned the document. He barely got half-way down before a line stood out at him. ¡°...Pending...investigation or payment of release fee of¡­five hundred platinum guilders?¡± He glared at Bellarn and pointedly ignored the way Mister Coven¡¯s hand slipped a little closer to his belt. ¡°This ship and all its cargo is worth less than a quarter of that!¡±


    ¡°Nevertheless, Captain, you will find that all is perfectly in order,¡± Bellarn replied, much too smoothly. ¡°As you can see, the order bears the Sharif¡¯s seal and the signature of the Clear Skies senior port officer. While the release fee is required by local law, I am afraid that it has been set at the maximum permitted amount and constitutes a formality in your case.¡±


    ¡°This is ridiculous, since when has Long Drop had a policy of conducting random searches?¡±


    ¡°I am instructed to tell you that the Guild is in total agreement with the Sharif''s concerns regarding the movement of contraband substances through the ports of Long Drop, and has newly implemented this policy within the last twenty days, sir,¡± Bellarn told him.


    ¡°Am I at least to be compensated for any damages, expenses or lost cargo?¡± Jerl asked.


    ¡°You would need to discuss that with a representative at the Guild''s offices here in the city, sir,¡± Bellarn told him. ¡°My colleagues and I are here only to deliver this notice and ensure it is observed. Please order your crew to disembark immediately.¡±


    ¡°And if we refuse?¡±


    ¡°You may remain aboard your ship and refuse to come ashore, captain, but I must warn you that you will not be permitted to refuel or set sail, and the usual port fees will continue to accrue.¡±


    The old man''s polite smile never flickered, even in the face of Jerl''s best hostile stare. Finally, Jerl spun about and marched between his friends and back up the plank.


    ¡°I don''t believe this,¡± Sinikka grumbled as soon as they were out of earshot.


    ¡°Bellarn''s reputation is that he takes professional pride in never telling a direct lie...¡± Amir said.


    ¡°You don''t have to tell a direct lie to conceal the truth,¡± Jerl said. ¡°Sin¡¯s right, something''s awry.¡±


    Amir stroked his beard and issued a thoughtful ¡°Hrrmm...¡±


    ¡°Not much for it in any case,¡± Jerl added. ¡°Sulking aboard ship won''t help us. Sin, go tear Derghan away from the engines, would you? Seems we''re going ashore without our cargo.¡±


    ¡°At last, something fun to do.¡± She betrayed an infinitesimal smile that was her equivalent of a toothy grin and headed astern toward the engine room. The mutual attraction between Sinikka and the Queen¡¯s burly storm-clan engineer was an open secret on board, not that either of them seemed in a hurry to go beyond flirting.


    ¡°Mind on the job, Sin,¡± Jerl reminded her.


    ¡°Of course!¡±


    Amir made an amused staccato ¡¯hm!¡¯ and cast his eye over the ship. ¡°Whatever could they be looking for?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Eh, I don¡¯t even care at this point,¡± Jerl growled, and stepped aside as the helmsman Gebby and a few other of his most seasoned crew disembarked. ¡°Go easy on the wenching, lads,¡± he cautioned them. ¡°Remember what happened in Crae Seyfil.¡±


    The Queen¡¯s rigging chief, Marren, grinned at him. ¡°Aye, but sure Villo¡¯s fully recovered by now,¡± he joked, slapping the man in question heftily on the back. Villo went red while his twin brother Toren joined in the laughter.


    ¡°He¡¯d better have, that apothecary wasn¡¯t cheap,¡± Jerl commented, grinning at Villo¡¯s discomfort. ¡°Go on.¡±


    The men disembarked, enjoying a little merciless teasing banter.


    ¡°You don¡¯t care they¡¯re just seizing and searching the Queen?¡± Amir asked.


    Jerl sighed, scratched the slightly sunburnt back of his neck, shook his head and shrugged.


    ¡°Amir, old friend,¡± he said, ¡°sometimes when you¡¯re being fucked up the arse, the only thing to do is relax and bite the pillow. They¡¯ll do their search, release her back to us as if they¡¯re the ones doin¡¯ us a favor, and that¡¯ll be the end of it. Whatever they¡¯re after, I guarantee it¡¯s not aboard my ship.¡±


    <hr>


    Once ashore, the crew scattered into the depths of Long Drop with assurances that they would check in regularly. Thanks to Amir''s forewarning every man among them had retrieved his coin purse, so Long Drop¡¯s taverns and brothels would be wealthier places tonight.


    Jerl had to make the call between lodgings that were appropriate for a merchant captain of his station, or those he could afford for any serious length of time. Prudence eventually won out over pride, and delivered them to a hotel called the ¡°Chart and Charter,¡± where one single brass coin was enough to buy Jerl, Amir, Sinikka and Derghan their room and board for a night.


    It was a fight to get to the bar after paying for their room, however. Clearly the Chart and Charter did much of its business in copious volumes of cheap alcohol, and catered without discrimination to wealthier ship-masters with a frugal streak, and to more down-market crew living the comparatively high life. The result was that Jerl found himself navigating a medley of half-heard conversations both intellectual and crude, and half-understood songs of varying lewdness and musicality before finally finding a table just being vacated by the fireplace, away from the worst of the noise.


    There was no escaping it. No matter how carefully they read the impound document, it remained stubbornly legal.


    Derghan was technically the first to give up, but only because Sinikka had never bothered to join in with poring over the letter. He¡¯d nursed a single pint of the tavern''s rich nut-brown ale throughout the conversation but when his patience finally gave out he emptied the leather tankard as if the rich substance within were water.


    ¡°Well, this explains the fuckin'' delay at least!¡± he said. ¡°You don''t just conjure up a Sharif¡¯s seal.¡±


    Derghan was a Haustian, son of the storm-dodging clans of St¨®rsteinn Earthmote. The stylized wind and lightning tattoos that sheathed his arms and ran all the way up his neck to his jaw had religious significance, Jerl knew, and each braid in his beard and hair commemorated a battle survived. He didn¡¯t know more than that: Derghan¡¯s past was the one subject on which he was perennially silent. He looked and behaved like an unsophisticated brute, but tending to the alcohol-fuelled brass engines that powered an airship was a job that required more brain than brawn: Derghan Vargursson had both in abundance.


    ¡°You do if you''re the Clear Skies,¡± Sinikka replied. ¡°It just takes a few hours, nay?¡± She had brought her Wychwethel with her off the ship, and was now occupying herself by maintaining it. The Elfish weapon, a ¡°howling-sword,¡± was half handle and half blade, and named for the eerie shrill sound it was designed to produce as it spun and danced in the hands of a trained user. Sin was an expert.


    ¡°We were in the holding pattern for...what, three hours? A fast horse could get to Ajhazra and back in...hmm. About two and a half hours,¡± Amir said.


    ¡°Less, if there''s a fresh horse available,¡± Sinikka pointed out.


    ¡°True.¡±


    ¡°You think they just went and got one?¡± Jerl asked. ¡°Surely you don''t just buy¡ª¡± he stopped. As a merchant he knew perfectly well that there was nothing in the four Worlds that didn''t have a price. ¡°Surely the Sharif''s seal isn''t cheap?¡± he corrected himself.


    ¡°So the question is, what do we have on board that''s so valuable?¡± asked Derghan.


    ¡°Nothing,¡± said Jerl, feeling like he was having to repeat himself. ¡°Furs, whisky, iron, a couple dozen of those nice blankets the taranfey tribes make. That''s what was on the manifest.¡±


    ¡°You sure there¡¯s nothing off the manifest?¡± Derghan asked.


    ¡°On my ship? Fuck off! Nothing. I know what¡¯s in my hold down to the nail, there¡¯s not so much as an unlisted rat turd.¡±


    ¡°Personal effects?¡±


    Sinikka shook her head. ¡°Like what? What the lads don¡¯t spend on booze and whores, they send home to their kin. Not a one of them could afford anything valuable enough to go to all this trouble,¡± she pointed out.


    Derghan chuckled. ¡°Aye, and if it¡¯s the pox they want they didn¡¯t need to lock down the Queen to find it...¡±


    When this joke failed to earn him anything more than a patient stare from Amir, he cleared his throat. ¡°...Is there no way this whole thing could just really be a random customs inspection?¡±


    ¡°The Clear Skies don¡¯t give a sticky shit about contraband,¡± Jerl said. ¡°No, this was targeted at us for some reason, or I¡¯m a-¡± He shut up as a serving girl cleared their empty drinks off the table and replaced them, despite that none of them had ordered anything. As she set a new tankard down in front of him, she slipped a scrap of paper under it.


    ¡°Message from a friend, read it then burn it,¡± she whispered, then she was gone in a swish of skirts.


    The wax didn''t bear any official seal---in fact it looked like it had been imprinted with the heads side of a steel penny. Amir inspected it and shared a frown with Jerl. ¡°Yes, well. It seems you¡¯re right,¡± he said.


    ¡°The Street Rats, now? What do they want with us?¡± Jerl asked


    The Street Rats were the unofficial guild of the lost, orphaned and forgotten in Long Drop and elsewhere in the Worlds. To the rich and powerful, they were a thieving menace. To their members they were a force for balance in an uncaring universe, turning some of the languishing, unused wealth of the Worlds toward constructive ends. They were also the dominant force in a thriving market for secrets and information, and were (credibly, in Jerl¡¯s opinion) rumored to cater to all the guilds in that regard.


    ¡°Damned if I know,¡± Amir replied. ¡°What does it say?¡±


    Jerl shrugged and broke the seal. The content of the letter itself was just a single terse line written by a blocky and unsophisticated hand.


    OUTER WORLDS EXPORTS WAREHOUSE TOPSIDE, AT DARKFALL.


    Heeding the barmaid''s instructions, after memorizing these brief instructions Jerl flicked the paper onto the fire and watched to make sure it burned completely away.


    ¡°R for Rats, eh?¡± he mused. ¡°Well, then. You drunk yet, Derghan?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m offended you think two would be enough!¡± the engineer announced cheerfully, setting down his newly empty tankard.


    Jerl had to chuckle at that. ¡°Heh! Fair. But no more: we have a meeting to attend.¡±


    <hr>


    <h2>Interlude: The Airship Make Your Own Fortune</h2>


    The Unbroken Earthmote, the world-sphere of Talvi


    09.05.13.19.04


    Landing an airship in the wild was traditionally a delicate process involving carefully pumping the float-gas out of the envelope into pressurized steel canisters while using the engines to keep her steady. That was the steady and safety-conscious way of doing it, and far too slow a process for Nils Civorage, who had spent months devising a new technique for shaving time off that process.


    The Fortune descended as far as she could before the wash of her own engines started blowing her back up again. As soon as she was low enough, harpoon guns were fired straight downward over the side, driving great metal spikes into the frozen ground. Men rappelled down from the ship, rushed to the harpoons and fed guide ropes through their sturdy iron rings.


    Chanting work-shanties, they hauled on the ropes with all their strength, dragging the ship inch by backbreaking inch down against the lift of its own gas envelope, while the riggers worked just as hard to pump off the gas. Within a minute, the Fortune¡¯s flat-bottomed hull was resting securely on the snow, and the work-songs fell silent, replaced only by heavy breathing, the distant shouts from the other ships, and the sound of the silent engines creaking as they cooled.


    The same operation was repeated across the fleet, and went perfectly ¨C they had rehearsed it far too often for mistakes.


    Nils knew the inspirational value of pitching in, so he was one of the first down the rappelling lines himself, and one of the first to grab a rope. Now, he couldn''t resist a grin of triumph at the sensation of his boots crushing Talvian snow beneath him. Not quite one hour had elapsed since the Eclipse cleared and they began their descent: they were slightly ahead of schedule.


    The work teams knew what was expected of them, and began the work of offloading the equipment and supplies even before the fifth ship had finished landing. Kegs of black powder, handcarts full of picks and shovels, the brightest and most long-lived magical lanterns that money could buy, bundle after bundle of prime lumber ready to shore up the mine shafts, drinking water, salt pork, hard tack, stockfish, rum, rice, cheese, chokeberries, live hens in cages, dried herbs and spices¡­


    Provisioning the expedition had been expensive, but Nils had not been parsimonious in this. Well-fed men worked harder and for longer, and good food meant good morale. Down here, morale was life. The lavish victuals weren¡¯t an expense, but an investment he was more than certain would pay for itself several times over.


    More and more barrels and boxes rolled off the ships, but far more was already here waiting for them. Already, some of the men were digging a fire pit for their forge. Others were uncovering the huge stockpiles of timber brought here over the preceding years, and a team was walking the perimeter digging post holes for the lanterns, steaming in the cold air as they worked.


    Nils¡¯ pulse raced and a smile lit his face, dispelling all his tension. Things were going perfectly: In four days'' time, when Eclipse returned, their camp would be complete and so brightly lit that no Shade could stand to approach it. It was to be the first permanent human-built outpost on Talvi, and it needed to be perfect if they were to survive the forty days until the sun''s light again fell on this ground.


    When it did, it would find either an empty, haunted failure, or triumphant men sitting on a pile of treasure. Nils had no doubts, though.


    He was about to become the richest man in all the worlds.


    <hr>


    <blockquote>


    ¡°My lad near went outdoors in Eclipse last month. Said he wanted to try an'' talk to the Shades. ¡®Maybe they''re lonely,¡¯ says ''e. ¡®Too right they''re lonely!¡¯ says I, after I''d belted half his arse off. ¡®They''re so lonely, they''ll drag yer away and make yer one of them an'' then ye''ll be lonely too, forever an'' ever.¡¯ Scared the wits out o'' him I did, an'' I bloody well hope he stays scared. I¡¯d not wish that fate on anyone...¡± ¡ªOverheard in the Broken Baron inn, Gideon''s Reach, Oderlend barony, Garanhir earthmote, E?rrach.


    </blockquote>


    <h2>Topside, Long Drop City</h2>


    Alakbir Earthmote, the World-Sphere of Sayf


    09.06.03.06.03


    ¡°About four minutes, I reckon¡± Jerl said, one hand raised to his brow as he squinted upward.


    Seeing the Roil itself was all but impossible: the great ring whose steady spin granted day and night to the Worlds fit the sun so tightly that a man would go blind trying to study it. But the line of the opposite terminator across the far earthmotes was nearly perfectly in line with the sun. Not long, now.


    They were loitering under the awning of a shop where the heat wasn''t quite so oppressive. Topside was cheap town, low-rent. Anyone with the money to afford it lived in Underside or Caverntown districts, in the mercifully cool air of the caves. The shop-owner was clearly keen to close for the night, but he had refrained from commenting thanks to the weapons they were openly carrying. Between Sin¡¯s Wychwethel, Jerl¡¯s pistols and Derghan''s rifle, the four of them had enough weaponry for a small gang war.


    Not that going armed was unusual in Long Drop. But still, people were giving them a wide berth. Even a Oneist proselytizer in the market square decided to move away rather than continue handing out pamphlets.


    Darkfall took only an instant. The Roil''s shadow swept across the city in a heartbeat, leaving only the reflected light of day from the far side of the Worlds to see by. It wasn''t true darkness, but certainly much dimmer, and Sinikka sighed happily as the air chilled noticeably.


    ¡°Winter¡¯s tits, that¡¯s better,¡± Derghan agreed.


    Jerl, who preferred higher, warmer climes, simply grunted ¡°Mm,¡± and led the way. The warehouse was just up the street, and they ignored how the shopkeeper slammed his shutters and locked the door when they walked away.


    A figure in a brown cloak banged three times on the door as they approached. There was the scrabble of a lock, the creak of large, heavy-duty and under-oiled hinges, and a man with an eyepatch ushered them inside. The interior was gloomy, lit by only a couple of fading magestone lanterns that left deep shadows among the semi-neat mountain of barrels, crates, hogsheads, trunks, chests, sacks and piles of lumber that were the warehouse¡¯s current stock. Jerl suppressed a grimace: such a shoddy lighting job could get people worse than killed on the lower worlds.


    Sayfians really were privileged.


    Most of the lanterns were clustered around a cargo hoist that bored down into the cave below, presumably into a dockyard rented by Outer Worlds Exports, the second-wealthiest of the big four guilds. It was a yawning shaft in the middle of the floor, with arm-thick ropes and a block and tackle as big as a man''s torso.


    Two men were seated on a long, low crate at the top of the shaft, and stood as Jerl and the crew were shown in. One was an older man, his hair and beard equal parts black and gray, but his eyes had a fervent intensity that put Jerl on edge for some reason. The other was unmistakably a pyrfey, a sun elf with skin the dark red of a brick and wide eyes whose large amber irises left no room for white sclera to show.


    ¡°Prompt. I like that,¡± the man with the salt-and-pepper beard said. When he shook Jerl¡¯s hand, his palms were as hard as any rope-hauler¡¯s. ¡°I sing it ye¡¯re leathered of yer ship.¡±


    ¡°Aye,¡± Jerl said, matching his words and accent. Rat-cant was much too useful for him to have neglected to learn it in his career. ¡°And I''ll wage ye''re a cully who notes he can lend light, ¡®fer scrap.¡±


    Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.


    ¡°No scrap. Light ¡®fer light. Might be ye¡¯re gnawin¡¯ fer why the Albies caged her, aye?¡±


    Jerl nodded. ¡°Might be.¡±


    Grey-hair nodded, and gestured to his colleague.


    ¡°A friend of a friend places your crew at Sky''s End for this year''s Winter bazaar,¡± the elf said, not bothering with rat-cant.


    ¡°Aye, they¡¯d be right,¡± Jerl replied, cautiously. The Winter Bazaar was held once a year outside the gates of the Glacier Keep, the palace of Queen Talvi, and was easily the largest annual commercial event of the Worlds. Many airships had attended.


    The elf nodded solemnly. ¡°The Clear Skies are after something one of your crew acquired there,¡± he said.


    Jerl frowned. ¡°My crew? You''re sure?¡±


    ¡°Certain.¡± The elf declined to elaborate, and Jerl guessed he¡¯d not get a straight answer if he asked. ¡°It would be a small wooden puzzle box, palm-sized, but quite difficult to open.¡±


    Amir cleared his throat and leaned forward to whisper in Jerl''s ear. ¡°Gebby,¡± he murmured. Jerl nodded¡ªhe remembered seeing the helmsman turning it over and frowning at it in his off hours.


    It seemed impossible that anybody''s ears could be so sharp, but the middle-aged man seemed to take this in, then gave a strange look to the door guard, who nodded and let himself out. Jerl turned to watch the guard go.


    ¡°So what do you want from u-oof!¡±


    He was still turning back when Amir tackled him violently and both men went sprawling to the warehouse floor. There was a pistol shot, which sent the percussive thump of gunpowder resonating around Jerl''s chest.


    Sinikka shrieked, and for a heart-stopping moment Jerl feared she had been hit, but then she was a white blur in the air as she leaped forward to parry the Sun Elf''s killing sword-stroke. Her cry had been one of rage.


    Jerl half-rose and took off at a crouching sprint, his boots scrabbling for purchase on the floor. Somehow, he managed to throw himself over a line of barrels as a rifle shot holed the floor by his toe. An instant later, Amir landed next to him.


    There was no time for gratitude yet. Jerl tugged a pistol from its holster and peeked over the top of the barrels in search of a target.


    The bearded man was down but not dead. Sin''s Wychwethel had opened his belly and he was slumped against a wall, clutching the spreading red stain on his shirt. The Sun Elf struck out with a long fighting knife, seeking to go on the attack and get in close where Sin''s long, whirling weapon was a liability, but she was too experienced a duellist for that, and the blade was swatted aside with a metallic clatter. She stepped, turned, flowed smoothly from parry to assault, and a Wychwethel on the offensive was a relentless wall of lethal steel that forced the opponent onto the back foot. He stumbled away from her, desperately deflecting first one stroke, then another. With each one his balance grew worse as he never quite had time to correct his footing before the next blow came raining down.


    Movement in the shadows: a man with a rifle up on the second level of the warehouse, aiming and waiting for a clear shot on Sin. Jerl punched his own pistol towards the marksman and fired. The round went wide, but he saw his target curse and duck, aim spoiled.


    Too late, he saw the other rifleman aiming at him, but the rifle shot that sounded didn''t come from that quarter, but from Derghan, and the ambusher slumped dead over his weapon.


    A third hidden marksman took his shot on Sinikka, and the snow elf''s leg gave out underneath her as the bullet blew through her calf muscle. Her beleaguered foe turned a stumbling dodge into a desperate swipe that knocked the Wychwethel from her grasp and away into a corner. He regained his stance, drew his blade back to stab her, and Jerl blew the top of his head off.


    He dodged into the flimsy protection of a stack of tall crates as the first rifleman he had missed earlier fired at him again. Derghan¡¯s second shot missed and blew the lid off an adjacent barrel of wine, but it forced the man¡¯s head down and gave Amir the chance to break cover, grab Sinikka by her shirt and drag her to safety.


    The third rifleman¡¯s gun jammed. He swore and dropped down from the upper level, drawing a dagger. Jerl aimed and pulled the trigger, but only winged him, and the other man charged in, forcing Jerl¡¯s pistol aside.


    They grappled. Jerl was strong, but his opponent was slightly taller and had the momentum, an advantage he used well, slowly forcing the point of his blade around toward Jerl¡¯s throat. In desperation, Jerl slammed his knee into the man¡¯s groin, then his forehead into his nose. His vision flashed and his thoughts fogged, but he retained enough presence of mind as his opponent staggered back to raise boot to chest and shove, hard. Flailing, the rifleman staggered back until the back of one of his leg hit a knee-high obstruction, he completely lost balance and toppled backwards into the lift shaft with a wail.


    Derghan fired again, the first gunman fell out of his hiding spot, clutching a gut wound. He tried to stagger away, but made it all of three steps before a throwing knife sprouted from the side of his head. His lurch for cover turned into a dying sprawl.


    In the sudden silence, Sinikka slid her second throwing knife back into its home in her left bracer, and hissed through her gritted teeth. She was sat with her back to a beam as Amir held his hand a finger''s length above her injured leg and gripped a magestone tightly in the other. The air between hand and wound shimmered like the air over a candle flame, and Jerl could see her flesh knitting under the healing spell¡¯s influence.


    ¡°You all right?¡± Jerl asked her. She shook her head, but indicated her fallen Wychwethel. ¡°Amir? Derghan?¡± he asked, darting to retrieve it.


    ¡°Aye,¡± Derghan grunted. Amir merely glanced at him long enough to nod and then returned to focusing on his rejuvemancy. Jerl took stock of his own condition as he returned Sinikka''s weapon. There was a cut on his forearm, probably from the man he¡¯d wrestled. But other than that, Sin was their only injury. They were five for none, somehow. Practically a miracle.


    But he could hear shouts echoing up the cargo shaft, and that meant it was only a matter of minutes before somebody came to investigate.


    While Amir and Derghan took Sin under her shoulders and helped her up, Jerl hastened to check the bodies. The man with the graying hair was dead from blood loss and shock, but he had a satchel, which at a glance appeared to contain papers and letters. Jerl unbuckled and stole it.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go.¡±


    They slipped away into the marketplace, and were well away by the time they heard a guardsman¡¯s bell sound distantly behind them. Jerl could only hope they¡¯d got away clean enough. Something in his gut said they were in deep shit and a self-defense plea would sink them deeper rather than dig them out.


    They found a secluded spot to set Sinikka down so that Amir could work on her leg. It took some minutes before she reported that her leg was strong enough to stand on, though Amir looked drained and gray. Magic was tiring, and healing a serious wound like rifle shot, doubly so. Amir was a decent enough mage, but merely getting Sinikka to the point of being able to limp had exhausted him¡ªrestoring her leg to full working order would take time they just didn¡¯t have.


    ¡°The fuck was all that about?¡± she asked, through a grimace.


    ¡°Gebby''s in trouble,¡± Amir said, echoing Jerl¡¯s thoughts. ¡°They attacked us the moment they heard his name.¡±


    ¡°Is a name enough to find him?¡± Derghan said.


    ¡°And the ship he¡¯s on,¡± Sin rasped. She flexed her toes and uttered an agonized snarl, then twitched one of her knives from its sheath and reached down to cut away the bloody cloth of her pants, which she tossed into a nearby pile of trash. Sensible: wandering around with blood-soaked clothes would only attract attention. ¡°In this town, that¡¯s more than enough.¡±


    ¡°He went with Marren and the twins,¡± Jerl said. ¡°Anyone know which whorehouse those four like best around here?¡±


    ¡°The Rose Curtain,¡± Amir predicted.


    ¡°Yeah? That¡¯s the fancy place in Caverntown, right?¡±


    ¡°Comparatively fancy, yes,¡± Amir agreed.


    ¡°We¡¯d better get down there.¡±


    They paid the toll for the cable car, powered by the river that flowed through Long Drop before flowing off the edge to rain down on E?rrach and the worlds below. Sin settled gratefully into one of its seats and massaged her calf. The wound might be closed, but it was obviously going to take a lot more magic to put her completely right.


    ¡°Couldn''t they just have bloody well bought it off him?¡± she complained as the brakes released and the device started to rumble down through a shaft cut into the bedrock. ¡°Gebby would sell his own teeth for a brass!¡±


    ¡°Would have been simpler,¡± Derghan agreed. ¡°Fuck''s sake, we left five men dead back there!¡±


    ¡°They broke a coin truce, too,¡± Amir added.


    ¡°Coin truce?¡± Derghan asked.


    ¡°When the Rats stamp a letter with a coin, they''re promising no harm to the recipient for a period of time. A day for steel, a month for brass, and a year for silver.¡±


    ¡°So they broke their own rules?¡± Derghan asked.


    ¡°No. Those men weren''t Rats,¡± Jerl said. ¡°Real Rats would never break a coin truce.¡±


    ¡°Ever?¡±


    Amir smiled grimly. ¡°They call it the cheapest ticket out of town.¡± He indicated vaguely in the direction of the edge. ¡°The Rats take their reputation seriously.¡±


    Derghan shivered. ¡°Eurgh. Summerlord''s fat arse...¡±


    From what Jerl knew, Derghan had grown up hundreds of miles inland and had never stood on an earthmote¡¯s edge until he¡¯d left home. Life aboard an airship had only mostly cured his acrophobia. Not that his reaction was unreasonable. Someone thrown from Sayf would have a long time to ponder their fate before finally hitting something, and that was assuming they hit something at all: more probably they¡¯d miss all the earthmotes altogether and fall past Talvi, into the endless freezing dark outside.


    ¡°So they got five men killed, and risk pissin'' off the Rats for good measure,¡± Derghan summarized. ¡°What in the worlds could Gebby have found that''s worth that?¡±


    The cable car emerged from the roof of a cavern into the perpetual off-white glow of Lowside, with its streets lit by cheap magic lanterns or, in the more affluent districts, by electric lighting powered by the fall of the river Anof. There was a rattle and a clonk as the slowed down into the raised platform of the lower terminus, and a uniformed boy opened the doors for thm.


    ¡°We need different lodgings, somewhere to lay low. And I¡¯m in no condition to fight,¡± Sin said as she forced herself to stand. ¡°I¡¯ll go take care of that. You all catch up with Gebby and the lads.¡±


    Jerl couldn¡¯t disagree. He nodded grimly and handed her the satchel he had salvaged from the warehouse. ¡°Read through this lot, see if you can find anything,¡± he said. ¡°Where do we meet you?¡±


    ¡°The Cooper''s Coin,¡± she said. ¡°The owner owes me a favor from a past life.¡±


    ¡°Right. Good luck, Sin.¡±


    She slapped him on the shoulder by way of a reply and limped away. Jerl turned to Amir. ¡°You okay, Amir?¡±


    Amir wiped his brow and nodded. ¡°Well enough¡­please don''t get shot.¡±


    ¡°Do my best,¡± Derghan assured him, drily.


    The Rose Curtain was only a couple of streets away, at the edge of the rather affluent little collection of businesses clustered around the cable car¡¯s bottom station.


    They were just around the corner from the building when there was a burst of screaming and the sound of pistols being fired. Without hesitation they broke into a run, pushing past five girls who were fleeing the brothel in tears. Two of the Rose Curtain''s guards were dead in the street outside the door, and as they approached a prostitute burst through the door, clearly desperate to escape. A shot caught her from behind and she fell sprawling with a staring expression of silent surprise and dismay.


    Derghan pulled up by the door, rifle raised to the vertical, then risked a peek around the door frame. He raised some fingers and mouthed the word ¡°three!¡± then ¡°not looking¡± as he pointed forked fingers at his own eyes and shook his head.


    Jerl nodded, hefted his pistols, took a deep breath, and threw himself through the door.


    Three targets. He raised his right hand, framed the butt of the weapon against his target''s turned back and fired. Blood exploded from the man''s chest and mouth as he fell. His friends were turning but Jerl''s second shot caught one of them in the throat. The third had barely half-turned when Derghan''s rifle spoke and took him in the face, just below the nose. Hurtling lead blew out the back of his neck and he fell.


    It all took less than a second. Quick, clean, smooth. Thank fuck.


    ¡°The girl?¡± Jerl asked.


    Amir shook his head and closed the luckless whore¡¯s eyes. ¡°Dead.¡±


    ¡°Winter''s tits!¡± Derghan swore.


    No time for sympathy: Jerl gestured for him to follow. ¡°Move.¡±


    There were more shots and screams from upstairs. He and Derghan rushed to the foot of the stairs, glanced up it, then ascended with Jerl half-turned to cover the top. There was a shot, and both men flinched, but it hadn''t been aimed at them. There were more shots¡ªsomebody was fighting back!


    Abandoning stealth, Jerl took the last of the stairs at a run. Four men were at a doorway, firing in. One saw him coming and raised a shotgun, but Jerl had the drop on him and painted the wall with his brains, an instant before Derghan¡¯s rifle dopped a second man.


    The two survivors flung themselves into cover, and it might have turned into a nasty shootout if Marren and the twins hadn¡¯t erupted from the door behind them.


    Three brutal seconds later, it was over.


    ¡°Skipper? Winter''s tits, I''m glad to see you¡­¡± Marren gave Jerl a confused but grateful look, and jerked his head back toward the door. ¡°Gebby''s hit, sir.¡±


    ¡°Amir! Get up here!¡±


    The navigator pounded up the stairs and pushed past him into the room; Jerl covered the stairs for a moment while Derghan reloaded, then followed.


    Amir was kneeling over the Queen''s fallen helmsman. Gebby was a shaven-headed Sayfi with a bad eye, who was whimpering in agony as he clutched the wound in his side. Jerl was no healer, but he could see that it was a bad hit ¨C there was a lot of blood. After examining it for a second, Amir looked up. He didn''t shake his head, but his grim expression said everything.


    Gebby groaned and laid his head back. ¡°I''m done, aren''t I?¡± he asked. Blood frothed on his lips.


    Jerl kneeled next to him. ¡°I''m sorry, Geb. We should have got here sooner.¡±


    ¡°They...were after me? Why?¡±


    ¡°That box you picked up at the Bazaar. Whatever it is, they want it¡­¡±


    ¡°The¡­box? All...this for a fuckin'' puzzle box?¡±¡± Gebby coughed wetly and tried to move. Amir tried to calm him. ¡°It''s in my...my bag¡­over there¡­¡±


    Jerl glanced at it, but didn¡¯t go for it. Not yet. He took Gebby¡¯s hand instead, put a hand to the side of the dying man''s head and looked him in the eye. ¡°We''ll get them back, mate. I promise.¡±


    Gebby nodded, then he seemed to lose the strength to hold his head up and relaxed. ¡°They could¡¯ve just...paid me for it...¡± he complained, and was gone.


    <hr>


    The girls who had been in the room where Gebby died vouched for them with the Watch, but it was still well more than an hour before they were finally free to go. As promised, they found Sinikka at the bar of the Cooper''s Coin, sitting alone with three bar stools to herself despite how packed the place was, and chatting with a fellow elf who was presumably the owner.


    Conversation faded briefly then picked up again in a pointed not-our-business sort of way as Jerl, Derghan, Amir, Marren, Toren and Villo walked in, still covered in blood that wasn''t their own. The owner arched an eyebrow, asked a question of Sinikka, then shrugged, said her goodbyes, and vanished into the cellars.


    Sin tried to rise to greet them, then grimaced and sat back down.


    ¡°Gebby?¡± she asked. Jerl just shook his head no. She deflated, hung her head. and murmured the brief Elfish farewell reserved for human deaths. ¡°*Chal fa, mellwan...*did you at least get the box?¡±


    Derghan held up Gebby''s bag.


    They left the bar, with Sinikka uncharacteristically accepting Derghan''s shoulder to lean on. She had rented a suite of rooms at the back of the building, overlooking the scullery roof¡ªa handy escape route.


    There were papers scattered all over the bed, next to the satchel from the warehouse.


    ¡°There''s not a lot to go on,¡± Sinikka said, gesturing dismissively to them as she sat. ¡°The letters are written in code, but they¡¯re all addressed to ¡®R.¡¯ I¡¯m thinking that¡¯s the guy I killed, same fella who sent us the message, nay?¡±


    ¡°That seems likely,¡± Amir agreed.


    ¡°There¡¯s also a ¡®V,¡¯ they seem to be the big boss.¡±


    Amir nodded. ¡°I¡¯ll have a look and see if I can break the code after I''ve brewed up something for that leg,¡± he said. Sin didn¡¯t object.


    Derghan dumped Gebby''s bag onto the bed. It didn''t contain much ¨C the dead man''s coin purse, an assortment of souvenirs from all over the Nested Worlds, a small knife with an engraved antler handle, and a cheap portrait of a woman on a palm-sized tin rectangle. Jerl tried not to dwell on that¡ªhe knew Gebby sent most of his pay back to support a child he rarely got to see. Poor kid.


    The puzzle box turned out to be a cube of varnished wood that fit easily into a man''s hand, its edges and corners decorated with odd, angular knotwork. A brass triangle decorated the center of each face, so perfectly flush that Jerl could scarcely feel where wood ended and metal began. There were no visible hinges or lock, and only a hairline crack to hint at the idea it might be opened. Jerl could feel the warm tickle of magical power in his fingertips as he held it, and he had only briefly dabbled in magical study: Amir paused to stare wide-eyed and open-mouthed the second he laid eyes on it.


    Merely grabbing the top and trying to open it failed. None of the brass triangles did anything when pressed upon or rubbed, and twisting the lid and pushing it in various directions accomplished nothing. They shook it and then argued over whether or not they had in fact heard something move inside. Jerl knocked on it, to which the box gave no response. Feeling foolish, he spun it, banged it hard against the solid oak of the bed, pressed his fingers to multiple points on its surface simultaneously, and even tried crushing it between his palms.


    They gave up after Derghan produced a knife and tried to lever the crack open, only to nearly slice his thumb off when the blade skittered free. It didn''t even mark the varnish.


    ¡°I guess we need the key,¡± Derghan mumbled around his injured digit as he sucked on it.


    ¡°There''s no keyhole,¡± Jerl pointed out.


    ¡°Maybe it opens magically. You never heard of Hamlin''s Vault?¡± Derghan replied.


    ¡°No?¡±


    ¡°Woulda thought you had, bein¡¯ from Garanhir. Baron Hamlin the fifth. Story goes he hired a mage to enchant the vault to his greatest treasure so it could only be opened by a descendant. Legend goes, to open it, an heir of the family had to shed blood on the lock.¡±


    ¡°So, the key could be...anything?¡±


    ¡°It''s a ridiculous fable,¡± Amir said, returning with a rag soaked in something that produced a blueish mist. He pressed it to Sinikka''s wounded leg and she hissed, but then the pinched expression of pain she had been wearing since the warehouse fight left her face.


    ¡°Wow,¡± she said. Amir gave a satisfied nod and set about bandaging the compress securely to her leg.


    ¡°Why ridiculous?¡± Derghan asked.


    ¡°The third law of magic: ¡®the relationship between the strength and duration of enchantment an object can retain, and how much that object has been shaped by mortal intention, is inverse,¡¯¡± Amir recited. ¡°That¡¯s why magestones and lantern stones are just random river pebbles. Something as complex as a vault door? You¡¯d need to employ a hundred mages to spend their whole day doing nothing but pour magic into it.¡±


    He paused, and looked at the box. ¡°And by the Four, I''ve never felt a magical aura that powerful before, and I''ve seen the Grand Orrery at the Observatory.¡±


    ¡°Well how does the Grand Orrery get around that rule?¡± Jerl asked. The Orrery, being a scale model of the Worlds made from steel, cut gems, bronze and glass would certainly be impossible to strongly enchant for long.


    ¡°It doesn¡¯t. It¡¯s exactly as I said, lots of mages constantly charging it, all hours of the day,¡± Amir said. He grabbed one of the letters and sat down to read. ¡°I''m beginning to see why people would go to such extreme lengths to have this thing. Such a refined object, able to hold such a potent enchantment for such a length of time? Impossible. Yet, here it is. There¡¯s only one explanation for that.¡±


    ¡°Which is?¡±


    ¡°That it was made by the Crowns themselves. Or one of their Heralds.¡±


    There was a moment of silence.


    ¡°So...it''s valuable, then?¡± Jerl ventured.


    ¡°Beyond priceless. Hmm...¡± Amir took up a pen and started to scribble in the margins of the letter he was reading.


    Jerl exchanged glances with Sin and Derghan.


    ¡°That¡­would go some way to explaining why somebody would be willing to kill for it,¡± Sin observed.


    ¡°So, what do we do with it?¡±


    ¡°Sell it to the Observatory and become obscenely wealthy?¡± Derghan suggested.


    ¡°What about Gebby?¡± Sin asked.


    ¡°We can do more to avenge him with a giant stack of money than we can with a box we can''t open,¡± Derghan pointed out. ¡°An¡¯ besides. Sooner we get rid of it, the sooner it¡¯s not our problem any more.¡±


    ¡°I''m inclined to agree,¡± Jerl nodded.


    Sinikka considered this. ¡°Well¡­I can¡¯t argue with that logic,¡± she admitted. ¡°But how do we get the box to the Observatory? It isn''t on this earthmote, and our ship¡¯s impounded.¡±


    ¡°Well, if that sun elf wasn''t lying about it being the Clear Skies who are after this thing, that makes them responsible for Gebby''s death. Which means that their impounding the Queen won''t be a problem,¡± Jerl said.


    ¡°Why not?¡±


    Jerl was about to answer when Amir set down the letter he had been reading and cleared his throat ¡°It...may go deeper than just them, actually,¡± he said, picking up and examining another letter. ¡°But they are involved.¡±


    ¡°You broke the cipher already?¡±


    ¡°No, but they this one is signed ¡®BDLG.¡¯¡±


    Derghan folded his arms. ¡°Don''t tell me. You know who that is.¡±


    ¡°Well...it¡¯s just a guess, but there was a Clear Skies ship called the Lesser Glory berthed at Sky''s End for the Winter Bazaar. It''s captained by Bree Dalsdottir, a¡­vocal Oneist. Strident, even. Bree Dalsdottir, Lesser Glory: BDLG.¡±


    ¡°...How in the shit do you remember all this stuff?¡±


    Amir shrugged distractedly. ¡°I have a good memory,¡± he said, then frowned and rubbed his upper lip. ¡°Though I feel as though something¡¯s slipping my mind right now...¡±


    ¡°Something important?¡± asked Jerl.


    ¡°Something relevant, certainly...¡± Amir scowled at himself, then shook his head and resumed reading and taking notes. ¡°It''ll come to me. Let''s see...ah!¡± He began to write on the back of one of the letters, constantly referring back to another.


    Jerl let him work.


    Sin cleared her throat. ¡°Jerl?¡±


    ¡°Yeah?¡±


    ¡°Why doesn''t it matter if the Clear Skies are behind Gebby¡¯s death?¡±


    ¡°Because that means we are in deep shit, and I don¡¯t intend to stick around in their capitol city waiting for it to get deeper,¡± Jerl said. ¡°Fuck the impound: we¡¯re taking the Queen back.¡±


    <hr>


    <h2>Interlude: Beacon Outpost</h2>


    The Unbroken Earthmote, the world-sphere of Talvi


    09.05.13.19.08


    ¡°And....Three...two...one...¡± Nils looked up, squinting as he tried to look at the sun. ¡°You were a few seconds out.¡±


    The navigator, Vanda, shrugged. ¡°Even the best watches lose a few seconds a day,¡± he said, evenly. ¡°Yours will be no excep¡ªah! There it goes.¡±


    Over the course of about four seconds, the light levels plummeted as above them one of the great Haustian earthmotes continued in its path and blotted out the sun. Nils watched the sunlight race away over the snow and vanish in the distance.


    The drop in temperature was no less sharp. Their breath had already been curling on the air, but within seconds the cold had gained an almost physical penetrative power that cut through fur and leather without effort.


    The expectant, tense silence did not, thank goodness, dissolve into panicked shouting and screams of terror.


    ¡°Well, we''re not dead,¡± Nils observed, drily. ¡°So I think we can assume this bastion is secure.¡±


    ¡°I heard there''s a thousand times more of ''em down here than you gets up above,¡± offered Jac Deragian, nervously. ¡°The Winter Fey say they steps out of any shadow as big as a man or larger.¡±


    ¡°Well, we seem to have adequately prepared,¡± Nils said, looking around at their careful preparations. Every inch of the courtyard, every corner and cranny of the buildings, every possible place a Shade might hide in the blackness had been ruthlessly illuminated.


    They would need to take similar care to eliminate the darkness in the mine. Native E?rrachans and Haustians were used to Eclipse and knew how to light a building to keep the Shades out, but they were taking absolutely no risks down here, where the darkness would be longer and deeper than anything experienced amid the higher Spheres.


    They became aware of a noise. It wasn''t a loud one at all. In fact, the hiss of a fitful zephyr sweeping loose ice crystals across the snow drowned it out entirely for a few seconds. But when the wind died again the susurrus returned, with an unnervingly familiar cadence and rhythm like quiet conspiratorial conversation, half-heard through a thin wall.


    ¡°...I''ve never heard of them talking before,¡± Nils said. He advanced as close as he dared to the line that marked the point where a man would begin to cast a shadow if he stepped any further, and looked out into the darkness. It was so pitch-black out there that he couldn''t even see the snow any more. But where were the Shades?


    ¡°I have,¡± Deragian said, nervously. ¡°My nan used to tell me the powerful ones, them what have turned a person, find their voice again. She said they talk all the time, but no matter how many they take, no living ear can make out the words.¡±


    ¡°But it''s coming from all around us,¡± Nils said. He frowned out at the absent view, trying to make sense of what little he could see in the impenetrable gloom¡­


    And then, like a candlestick emerging from an image of two faces, he saw. It wasn''t that he couldn''t see the snow because of the darkness¡ªhe couldn''t see the snow because the Shades were shoulder-to-shoulder out there, an endless unbroken sea of black shadow-figures, all staring at him.


    ¡°Shit!¡± he exclaimed, and jerked back so violently that he slipped and fell, landing on the hard-packed frozen ground with a crash that knocked the air out of him.


    ¡°Mister Civorage!¡± Deragian and Vanda rushed over. ¡°Are you hurt sir?¡± asked Vanda.


    ¡°Just...¡± Nils coughed, fought for breath, and finally recovered the ability to breath and speak. ¡°Just my...pride.¡±


    He stood up, rubbing his bruised flank. ¡°There¡¯s thousands of them out there¡­tens of thousands!¡±


    The noise swelled a little as he said this, then died again. It was maddening. No matter how hard a listener strained to hear, there was always the sense that if you could just listen a little more attentively, you might finally make out what they were saying.


    ¡°They''re keeping their distance, at least,¡± Vanda said. ¡°The lights are keeping them at bay.¡±


    ¡°No reason not to get on with it, then,¡± Nils said, bluffing over his rattled nerves. ¡°Come on, let''s get down below. I want to be there for when the blasting starts.¡±


    None of them spoke aloud the other reason for wanting to get below ¨C the whispering was already quite unnerving, soon to be intolerable. But worse still was the creeping sensation of being watched by ten thousand hollow, dead, hungry, and endlessly patient eyes.


    Silently, they were dreading the forty days to come.


    <hr>


    <blockquote>


    ¡°The first law of magic is this: the energy required to perform magic cannot arise spontaneously, but must instead be drawn from a source. This is known as the Law of Channeling. An open flame or charged magestone are the most common sources, but a mage may draw from their own bodily reserves if need be. Care must be taken when doing this, as aggressive spellcasting can starve the body, resulting in injury or even death.¡± ¡ªThe Initiate¡¯s Guide to Magecraft.


    </blockquote>


    <h2>The Cooper''s Coin Inn, Lowtown</h2>


    Long Drop City, the World-Sphere of Sayf


    09.06.03.06.04


    They posted a watch and slept lightly, with their weapons to hand. It proved to be an unnecessary gesture in the end¡ªthere were no Clear Skies men, no assassins, no hint that the foe had any idea where they were. By the time the light through the gaps in the cavern roof indicated the sun was out from behind the Roil again, Sinikka declared that her leg was stiff but satisfactory.


    They had planned long into the night while Amir slowly unraveled the code of the intercepted letters, and although his work wasn''t yet done, they had a much clearer picture of what was going on.


    ¡°R¡±, whoever they were, was clearly a figure of some authority in this conspiracy. There was no hint as to what the box contained, nor why ¡°V¡± wanted it so badly, but then again, R had gone down fighting. They might well have been able to learn much, had they captured him alive...if only he''d given them the option.


    The whole affair was leaving a decidedly bad taste in Jerl''s mouth, and the sooner they got rid of the wretched box and could return to the quiet merchant life, the better. Though that might be easier said than done, if the Clear Skies held a grudge¡­


    At least they had a plan without any steps in it that read ¡®make it up was we go.¡¯ Jerl had made do with worse.


    In this, as with so many other things, Amir¡¯s photographic memory was proving invaluable. He had a roll of blank paper and a pencil, and was busy sketching out the Queen¡¯s docking bay in detail.


    ¡°¡ªand the top-gantry ladder is¡­here.¡± He stepped back and frowned at the sketch. ¡°I can¡¯t think of anything else that might be relevant.¡±


    Jerl nodded and stroked his jaw. He was overdue a shave, and stubble scratched at his fingertips. ¡°Alright. Let¡¯s go tell the lads.¡±


    Marren and the twins had slipped out early in the morning to round up the crew, and they¡¯d taken over the Cooper¡¯s Coin¡¯s game room for an impromptu ¡°private function.¡± As Jerl, Sin, Amir and Derghan entered, the buzz of conversation stopped and they all looked up expectantly. Jerl paused at the door to talk with Marren.


    ¡°You tell ¡®em?¡± he asked.


    Marren shook his head. ¡°Figured they should hear it from you.¡±


    ¡°Right.¡± There was a billiards table in the middle of the room and Jerl moved to its head end, gesturing for his men to gather round. He could feel their tension, they knew something was up.


    No sugar-coating it, then.


    ¡°Gebby¡¯s murdered,¡± he told them, bluntly. He let the shock ripple around the room, gave them a second to absorb the news and feel it, then continued. ¡°Bastards who did it were Clear Skies guildsmen, and we¡¯re pretty sure it was on orders. They were after this.¡±


    He set the box down on the baize in front of him. ¡°I don¡¯t know what it is, and I don¡¯t know why they want it. But no fucker kills one of our own and profits by it.¡±


    Nodding heads accompanied an angry murmur of agreement.


    ¡°If this were anywhere else we might be able to go to local authorities, but this is Long Drop. Even the bloody Sharif is in the Clear Skies¡¯ pocket. There¡¯s no day in court here, there¡¯s no justice. And whatever this thing is, the bastards would rather kill anyone who knows it exists than buy it. So instead o¡¯ sit around and wait for them to hunt us down, we¡¯re takin¡¯ the ship back, and we¡¯re leaving. Tonight.¡±


    He laid Amir¡¯s map on the table, anchored its corner with the box, and looked around. ¡°If anyone¡¯s not on board¡­door¡¯s there. No hard feelings, good luck to you. All I ask is, you say nothing to anyone.¡±


    Nobody moved. Jerl exhaled, nodded around the room at them, and then leaned forward.


    ¡°Alright. Here¡¯s the plan¡­¡±


    <hr>


    By necessity, he had to send the lads out shopping. There were tools they needed, things they hadn¡¯t brought off the ship and would now need to get back onto it. The coin Jerl carried was barely enough to cover it all¡­but it was enough.


    He just had to hope the Clear Skies¡¯ eyes weren¡¯t as omniscient as he feared. This was a delicate moment, and all he could do was wait while the lads slipped out in groups of three to retrieve weapons, rope, rigging harness, and more.


    Derghan and Sin opted to clean and ready their weapons at the far end of the room. Jerl would have joined them, but there was a question nagging at him that they weren¡¯t equipped to answer.


    ¡°So¡­Amir.¡±


    Amir was still busy trying to decipher the letters from the warehouse, meaning he was at the heart of a circle of paper and plates, eating a large meat pie as he made notes in his journal. Serious mages were like that, always stuffing their faces and yet perpetually skinny. ¡°Mm?¡±


    ¡°What would happen if we tried to magic the box open?¡±


    Amir flinched. ¡°Fuck me sideways! Please don¡¯t!¡±


    ¡°That bad, huh?¡±


    ¡°I have no idea! All I know is, we''re talking about something that breaks the known laws of magic which means it¡¯s probably a creation of the Crowns, and that makes it the most significant arcane discovery ever¡­and it''s just a box.¡± Amir closed his journal, neatly stacked the papers, and pushed them aside. ¡°As in, it contains something. Something that the Crowns themselves thought warranted containing. If that thought doesn¡¯t terrify you into the utmost caution, then you haven''t got your head around the magnitude of this!¡±


    ¡°So¡­I guess it¡¯s a good thing we¡¯re taking it to the Observatory, then.¡±


    ¡°Ah. Yes. I¡¯ve been meaning to talk with you about that,¡± Amir said, carefully. ¡°The more I think about it, the more I think we shouldn¡¯t go to the Observatory.¡±


    ¡°Why not?¡±


    ¡°Well, one, they''d just try to open it, with who-knows-what consequences¡­but more importantly, this Clear Skies, Oneist, whoever-they-are conspiracy? I imagine we¡¯d just be delivering the box into their hands if we did that. The Observatory is a large and eminently permeable academic institution.¡±


    Jerl¡¯s fingernails rasped through his whiskers as he mulled that thought over. ¡°What do you propose we do instead?¡±


    Amir took a nervous breath and leaned forward. ¡°I think we should take it to Yngmir.¡±


    ¡°Fuckin'' Crowns!¡± Derghan exclaimed. He paused in cleaning his rifle and half-turned to face them. ¡°You don''t just take something to a Herald!¡±


    Amir looked between all three of his friends. ¡°None of you can sense just how powerful this thing really is,¡± he said, more seriously than Jerl had ever seen him. ¡°And it''s just the container for something else. Powerful people are after it, are willing to kill for it...whatever it contains, I don''t think it should be part of the mortal world. The Heralds might know what to do with it, and of all of them, Yngmir is one of the most personable and serious¡ªtherefore most likely to even listen to us¡ªand of the few whose location I even know, he¡¯s the closest.¡±


    ¡°How bad could it be if the bad guys do get their hands on it?¡± Derghan asked.


    Amir swallowed. ¡°In the worst case? It could be one of the Words,¡± he said. There were blank looks all around. ¡°...The Words?¡± he insisted. ¡°The Words of Creation?¡±


    Sinikka scoffed. ¡°They''re just a myth.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯ve been theorized to exist since¡ª¡±


    ¡°I was there, Amir. My first life was given to me on the day the Worlds were built! I remember watching the Crowns spin them out of clouds of dust, and they were silent throughout. The Words of Creation are a human legend, and your people have been getting it wrong this whole time.¡±


    ¡°The theory doesn¡¯t claim the Words spoke the worlds into existence, Sin,¡± Amir retorted. ¡°They spoke Space, Matter, Energy, Life and Time into being. It was only when they had those that the Crowns could assemble the worlds and then make the Fey and mortals.¡±


    ¡°Myth!¡± she insisted.


    Amir sighed in frustration. ¡°If you were made of the things the Words made, why would you expect to have heard them?¡± he asked. When she frowned and didn¡¯t reply, he went on. ¡°Anyway, when the Crowns had finished their work they supposedly forgot the Words by sealing them away and scattering them across the worlds. And here we have a box of immense magical power that we can''t seem to open. Maybe I am wrong and Sin¡¯s right, but¡­even if so, I¡¯m quite sure the only ones who could make this thing are the Crowns themselves. Meaning, its contents, whatever they may be, are not ours to meddle with.¡±


    Jerl stroked his chin and stared off into the distance through the floor a few feet in front of his boots. ¡°You''re serious about this?¡± he asked at last.


    ¡°Jerl, I swear by the Four, the Twelve and my late grandmother''s rice kheer¡ªif we get down there and Yngmir laughs us out of his library, we can take this thing to the Observatory and sell it and use the funds to plan our revenge, and good riddance. But if I''m right, then the consequences of it falling into the wrong hands could be¡­I-I can¡¯t¡­¡± he waved his hands helplessly and trailed off.


    Jerl glanced at Sinikka, who shrugged and returned to sharpening her weapon. Derghan¡¯s brow was so furrowed in thought that he didn¡¯t even glance up.


    It wasn''t even a decision, Jerl realized. Not really. He¡¯d trusted and relied on Amir for far too long to ignore him now.


    ¡°Well...I did always want to see the Thundering Hall,¡± he said.


    <hr>


    They split into two groups, Amir with Derghan and Jerl with Sinikka. The rest of the crew were ready, armed and had vengeance on their minds. Everyone knew the plan.


    Finding their way out onto the roof of the docking shelf was the easy part. The high winds and constant creak and shift of the structure underfoot were all familiar to experienced airshipmen. Darkfall flashed over them as they crossed, and the darkest part of the night, when the least amount of light was reflecting back from the distant earthmotes, began.


    Jerl and Sin had five of the crew¡¯s best fighters with them, men who had proven their mettle fending off pirate boarding parties over the years, including the twins. Jerl gave them all a clap on the shoulder as they affixed their lines to the roof. He checked his watch. The signal wouldn''t be long in coming now.


    The signal was when, in the bay below them, Derghan, Amir and the rest of the crew rounded the corner and marched purposefully towards the docking bay''s checkpoint. The liveried Clear Skies guards on duty ordered them to halt, were ignored, and foolishly raised their weapons.


    As the shooting started below, Jerl, Sinikka and the five chosen men swung down off the roofs.


    Their judgment of momentum and rope length was perfect: the seven of them arced around on their ropes to land amidst the Queen¡¯s topside rigging. With the Clear Skies guards on board distracted by the fighting on the dock and taking aim to start shooting, they didn''t notice the threat from above until the boarding party''s boots had hit the deck planking. Three died in the first second.


    Knife work in close quarters was bloody stuff, and Jerl¡¯s party had the advantage thanks to Sinikka. A thousand lifetimes of practice made her a flashing force of deadly nature, her Wychwethel screeching as she flowed into the melee and dealt death with a cold, troubling rictus. Jerl had always privately suspected she enjoyed bloodshed¡­


    Jerl and his men were rather more methodical in their approach. With a pistol in one hand and his sabre in the other, Jerl busied himself with covering Sin''s back. The five crewmen, armed with a mixed bag of machetes, daggers, a hand axe and a carpenter¡¯s hammer, went for the simple approach of descending upon one unfortunate man at a time and overwhelming him, quickly and ruthlessly.


    Jerl¡¯s focus narrowed into a blur of violent action. Shoot, slash, parry, kill. One man, two men, three, and then the deck was clear. One of his chosen men, Tarruk, was down, and Villo was bundled behind cover clutching at a bullet wound where a rifleman had winged him.


    ¡°Ramps out! I''ve got the engine room!¡± Jerl ordered. He holstered his empty pistol, drew its twin, and moving to the top of the companionway. ¡°Oi! Anyone down there?¡±


    ¡°Friendly!¡± One of his chosen men, Malik, emerged into the light. His axe was gory all the way down the shaft. ¡°It¡¯s clear.¡±


    ¡°Good work. Signal the capture, and get these poor bastards off my ship.¡±


    ¡°Aye aye!¡±


    Jerl knew a bit about his engines, of course. What kind of skipper would he have been if he didn¡¯t? He might not be able to make them sing like Derghan, but he could at least start them up. He opened the fuel valve and the ethanol flowed. A slow twenty, then he threw and held down the large switch marked ¡°engine start.¡±


    There was a shudder, a cough, a splutter, then a roar and the entire ship began to creak and complain as the engines wound up to full power, pushing the Queen hard against the docking clamp. Jerl quickly twisted the choke closed and set the throttle to ¡°idle.¡± There was cheering from up on deck, and a second later Derghan joined him in the engine room.


    ¡°Nicely done!¡± He shouted over the hiss of fuel and buzz of the engines.


    Jerl nodded and stepped aside to let him work his own brand of magic. ¡°How¡¯d we do?¡±


    ¡°Took ¡®em down quick and hard. We lost Tarruk and Padrig, though. A few wounded.¡±


    Jerl nodded, regretfully. He¡¯d known coming into this that taking the Queen back might get some of his men killed, but that didn¡¯t mean he liked hearing it. He just hoped they¡¯d died for something worthy. ¡°I better get back to the wheel,¡± he said.


    ¡°Aye. Marren and the boys¡¯re about to pull the bolt.¡±


    Jerl clapped him on the shoulder and sprinted up the stairs onto the deck, where the crew were coming aboard and rushing to their stations. Most were rolling stolen barrels of fuel aboard, enough to get them to the Thundering Hall.


    As the last man stepped onto the deck, he kicked the gangplank away. The ropes had already been cast off, and Jerl could feel the Queen practically surging and straining, ready to fly again.


    Down on the dock, Marren and four other men were donning the light canvas and bamboo wings that would allow them to glide across to the ship once it was away. As soon as the plank clattered loose, they grabbed the crank to pull the docking bolt across and heaved.


    It didn''t take long ¨C only seconds later the Cavalier Queen shivered and came free from the cradle. Jerl wasted no time ¨C he hauled the signal lever into the ¡°full astern¡± position and almost immediately the arrow to indicate Derghan''s confirmation moved with a bell chime. The engines went from idling to a full-throated howl, the blades became an invisible blur, and the Queen scraped along the cradle as they undocked much faster than was, strictly speaking, safe.


    On the dock, Marren was pointing and shouting something. Jerl looked up and his heart sank: Unnoticed by any of the boarders, someone had embedded a grappling hook in the gasbag, its cable anchored in the solid rock at the back of the docking bay. There to stop them from doing precisely this.


    It was already much too late to arrest the ship''s momentum. A horrible ripping, bursting sound as they cleared the docking cradle, and an eruption of blue-white gas, signaled the moment the hook tore into, through, and out of the bag and punctured one of its internal bladders.


    There was a moment of sickly wallowing and then, robbed of its buoyancy, the Cavalier Queen dropped out of the sky.

 Chapter 2: The Cronewood

    <h2>Interlude: Beacon Outpost</h2>


    The Unbroken Earthmote, the world-sphere of Talvi 09.05.13.19.18


    The whispers were¡­maddening.


    There was nothing that could help a man escape them. No matter how loudly the workers sung their songs and told their boasts, no matter how much of the mission''s supply of strong alcohol they consumed, the susurrus of the Shades above could not be drowned out. It crept into dreams and left men too tired to work. It crept into conversations that tailed off as the participants stopped to listen.


    The whole mission was going insane from it.


    The only refuge was underground. With nowhere to escape, the only recourse was to work, and by working they discovered that the more rock they put between themselves and the surface, the quieter the perpetual noise got. The moment word got around about this, every last one of the miners redoubled their efforts. They had gone further in twelve days than Nils had estimated for twenty and finally, finally they reached a layer where not a single man could hear the Shades talking to each other.


    The cheering when Nils announced that they would hollow out a chamber and move the beds down into it was deafening in the confined space. But it was only sensible¡ªonly a minor miracle and strong leadership had prevented somebody from murderously losing their mind by now. Forty-eight hours later the whole camp had been moved down below ground, and though the merry fire that somebody started in the middle filled the room with smoke that stung the eyes and lungs, it was paradise compared to the mind-eroding muttering topside.


    They got the first decent night''s sleep in more than a week, but the mining teams had found that they could sustain the rhythm now and threw themselves into their work with undiminished enthusiasm.


    On the morning of the mission¡¯s sixteenth day, however, something went terribly wrong.


    What had been the mining face suddenly crumbled inwards under a pick and the whole wall fell apart, revealing an empty space behind it. Before anybody could react, semi-transparent arms of black smoke and obsidian sinew grasped through out of the darkness and three miners were taken, hauled shrieking into the darkness to be consumed.


    The light teams rushed forward with their brightest and most powerful lanterns and the Shades fled, chattering and mocking just below the threshold of audibility. They were too late to save their colleagues, however. One was dust, all life stolen from his body and his Shade already gone. The others were caught on the threshold between being consumed and being saved, and their shades still occupied their physical bodies and tried weakly to strip the life force of the men who went to put them out of their misery, their eyes perfectly black from edge to edge. The grim and thankless task of destroying them was made all the worse by watching the mockeries that had once been their friends flee into the shadows, forever lost to an eternity of mindless hunger.


    Only when that job was done did the miners and lantern teams look around and see what they had stumbled into.


    ¡°Somebody had better go get Mister Civorage...¡± one of them said at last.


    In the middle of the cavern, four robed statues stood around a pedestal, their heads bowed.


    And upon the pedestal was a small, unassuming wooden box.


    <hr>


    <blockquote>


    ¡°See, an alchemist showed me one time how you can make a gas that sort of works like lift gas by taking two copper wires, sticking ¡®em in a bowl of water and attaching ¡®em to something he called a generator. ¡®But,¡¯ says he, ¡®It may be a mite stronger than that stuff what the Keeghans invented, but the guild gas don''t burn.¡¯ I asked him what he meant, cause I''ve seen airships go down in flames, so he put a candle to this floating paper bag he''d made and¡ªWHAM! Took forever ¡®fer me eyebrows to grow back. I''m glad we don''t use that stuff in the airships. You''d have to be crazy!¡±


    ¡ªOverheard in the Steel and Silver Inn, Crae Vhannog.


    </blockquote>


    <h2>The Airship Cavalier Queen</h2>


    Falling from the world-sphere of Sayf 09.06.03.06.04


    By a stroke of pure good fortune, only one of the bag¡¯s three compartments had ruptured, and the Queen wasn''t falling so much as sinking out of the sky. She was doing so sickeningly fast, but they at least weren''t in free-fall, and there was some hope of salvaging the situation.


    ¡°All hands up top!¡± Jerl roared. He cranked the Engine Order Telegraph to signal hard ascent, but it seemed that Derghan was a step ahead of him: the engine outriggers were already turning to blow straight up, their usual mellow drone climbing to a dangerous howl as they took the weight. There was a noticeable sense of deceleration, but the cliff walls were still rolling away upwards in a terrifying stone blur.


    Five winged shapes spiraled down from above, banked, and then Marren and his men were a welcome sight as they dropped into the top of the gasbag. Already, half the crew had swarmed up the rigging, and were feverishly extracting the burst bladder while a spare was brought up from the hold, passed hand-to-hand along a line of men.


    Alakbir¡¯s edge-cliff vanished, and for a horrible second Jerl feared they might be blown under the earthmote and into Eclipse, but the wind was going the other way, thank goodness. The swirling air shoved the Queen out into the comparative temporary safety of open sky, while Jerl wrestled with the helm as the wind battering his rudder threatened to put the ship into a lethal spin.


    ¡°Amir!¡± he yelled. The navigator lurched across the yawing deck and steadied himself against the wheelhouse. Jerl had to shout over the sound of the wind, the engines and the shouting from topside. ¡°How much sky do we have?¡±


    Amir reeled away, coming dangerously close to tipping over the ship''s rail as the deck lurched horribly.


    ¡°E?rrrach!¡± he bellowed.


    His meaning was clear. Their current course would see them hit solid land, altogether much sooner than Jerl would have liked. The crew drilled for bag-burst of course, and could hopefully inflate it again in the time it took to fall from one world to the next¡­but it would be a lot better if they had more time.


    ¡°Can we miss it?¡± he asked. Amir ran across the deck to the opposite side, dropping flat on his back to slide to the other rail as it swayed violently, then raised himself up for a look.


    ¡°Hard starboard!¡± he screamed and raised a hand. The order was heard, and repeated up in the rigging as a desperate cry of ¡°Hang on!!¡±


    Jerl grabbed the wheel with both hands and put all his weight on it, fancying he could feel the rudder creaking against the air pressure. Somehow it held, and after a few seconds Amir dropped his hand. ¡°Forward!¡±


    Jerl rang the bell for one-third forward, hoping that was the right balance between enough forward speed and enough upwards thrust to buy the men in the rigging time. Brass valves were being unscrewed from the old bladder and screwed onto the new as fast as possible, while other men packed the new bladder into place and made sure it wouldn''t tangle. They were racing against the clock, but a bad bladder would doom them.


    Amir, still at the railing, shook his head despairingly. ¡°We¡¯re going to hit! Full ascend!¡±


    The E.O.T rang in Jerl''s hand again, and a second later the engine pontoons returned to full vertical. Derghan and his lads must have been working themselves to the breaking point down there.


    Somebody up in the rigging yelled ¡°Fill!¡± and there was the welcome hiss of gas being siphoned from the Queen''s emergency reserves to fill the new bladder, which began to inflate. Men swarmed down the rigging ¨C there was no time to sew the envelope patch into place and they could all see what Jerl could only infer¡ªthat E?rrach was now alarmingly close. Now, all they could do was hold on and pray.


    The seconds ticked away as the bag filled. Jerl could feel their descent slowing, feel their trajectory start to swing forwards and up, but his back was crawling with the knowledge that any instant now there might be an all-encompassing crunch, and then nothing¡­


    Instead, their descent continued to slow. A wall of rock suddenly loomed up in front of the Queen''s nose, but it wasn''t an Edge Cliff, but rather the shore of an inland sea. There was a bounce and a hefty splash as the Queen struck the water and skipped off like a pebble: her structure groaned in complaint, but the filling bladder and the thrumming engines had finally won the war against gravity.


    Now they had a different problem. Now they were hurtling forward far too fast while rising too slowly. The cliff rushed forward to meet them like a wave of tide-washed stone.


    But Amir thrust his hand into his pocket, pulled out a handful of magestones. There was a flash and a crackle as stored energy surged up his arm, he gestured wildly with his free hand and, with a roar of effort, cast a spell. Jerl felt the queen buck violently as a hurricane updraft swirled up and slammed into them from beneath.


    It lasted only for a second, but it lifted them just enough.


    The cliff face dropped away at the very last instant, and for a moment Jerl¡¯s heart leapt into his throat. They¡¯d survived. They¡¯d fucking survived!


    If only fate wasn¡¯t quite done toying with them yet. Hitting the water must have cut the fuel lines: the engines coughed, choked, and fell suddenly silent. Without their aid, the gas bag alone couldn''t hold the ship aloft, and so there was a sick moment that made the bottom of Jerl''s stomach feel like it had dropped out, followed by a horrible, splintering crash as the Queen¡¯s keel made contact with the ground and disintegrated.


    Terrified men clung to the rigging for dear life as the Queen tipped over onto her port side and carved a furrow of churned turf and broken timber behind her that seemed to go on and on. Jerl cringed at every crunch and slam as bits of his ship were torn away but somehow, somehow, the old girl held herself together until at long last she skidded to a halt. Half-rolled over, bag-burst, missing an engine and large parts of her hull¡­but, somehow, intact.


    For several seconds, nobody moved or made a sound. They were all too amazed they had survived. Then somebody issued a delighted yell, which was taken up by the whole crew, only to be replaced by a collective unnerved ¡°woah-OH!¡± as the gasbag continued to inflate and the whole ship lurched abruptly into its usual upright attitude. Some quick thinkers scrambled to turn off the gas valve before their damaged craft could part ways with the ground.


    Jerl patted the wheel. ¡°Thank you, old girl,¡± he murmured, numbly. ¡°Thank you.¡±


    He let go and wobbled away. Amir was lying flat on the deck with his chest heaving. His left hand was still clutched tight around a fistful of sand and gravel, the shattered wreckage of his magestones. Jerl had never seen anyone draw enough power to do that before.


    ¡°You okay?¡± he asked, dropping down by his friend¡¯s side. Magic was dangerous, an incautious mage who pushed themselves too hard could literally starve themselves to death in seconds.


    But Amir was just breathless. He nodded, teetering on the line between panting and manic laughter. ¡°That¡­wasn''t exactly¡­our finest landing.¡±


    Jerl sat down beside him, rested his head against the wood, and exhaled. His whole body was trembling. ¡°Hey¡­we''ll get to tell people about it. So, it was still good.¡±


    There was a moment of silence. Then, slowly, breathlessly, Amir started to laugh. Jerl couldn¡¯t help it: he joined in.


    And it took them a long time to stop.


    <hr>


    Miraculously, they hadn''t lost a single soul. Sinikka reported a close call below decks when the ship''s untimely touchdown had torn out the wood around her, and one man claimed that he had spent half the descent clinging to the starboard railing after being thrown overboard.


    The Queen, alas, had not fared so well. The keel was gone, and several of the other structural beams bore troubling cracks that would need bracing, and that was being charitable. It might just be that the old girl¡¯s back was broken. The port engine had torn off too, and a search party found it a quarter mile behind them, half-buried in its wrecked nacelle. Derghan inspected it with the air of a father checking his child''s fever to see if she would live the night.


    ¡°Could be worse,¡± he announced eventually ¡°She¡¯s in one piece, at least. We''ll need to scavenge two blades off starboard, bodge together a new distributor, re-run the fuel lines, check the gasket seals¡­¡±


    ¡°Can she run?¡± Jerl asked. ¡°At all? Doesn¡¯t have to be perfect.¡±


    ¡°If these weren¡¯t Keeghan engines, we¡¯d be buggered. As it is¡­¡± Derghan wobbled his head, then closed the access panel he had been scrutinizing and stood up. ¡°No promises, but I think we¡¯ll be able to limp to the Thundering Hall.¡±


    Jerl exhaled and relaxed, very slightly. ¡°Fuck me upside-down. I thought we were dead ship there, for a minute.¡±


    ¡°The Queen''s a tough old lady,¡± Derghan said, fondly. ¡°Anyway, I''m going to need at least ten men to get this engine back and re-mounted. I''ll start diggin¡¯ her out while you fetch ¡®em, aye? Oh, and we¡¯ll need to hang a log for keel-ballast, unless you want to spend the whole trip swaying like a bell.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll get the lads on it,¡± Jerl nodded, clapped him on the shoulder and began the walk back.


    He was actually quite glad of the five minutes of alone time to collect his thoughts, considering the circumstances, and took the opportunity to light his pipe and think while he walked.


    By unspoken agreement they had left the box in Amir''s care. He was the one who had the most respect for it, and he was taking the opportunity to study it¡ªcarefully¡ªfor any new insights. Neither he nor Jerl held out any particular hope of such a scenario, but it would be nice to have some better idea just what it was had brought them so much trouble.


    The Oneist connection was what troubled Jerl the most. The so-called Church of the One was only a few years old but its rise was easily the most significant political event since the death of Baroness Taisa Hamlin the Third had ended the Hamlin line and left the Garanhir Baronies, Jerl¡¯s homeland, teetering on the brink of yet another civil war.


    Jerl was not an especially religious man. Like most folks from the Baronies he was an eclecticist, collecting whatever scraps of elven animism and Crown-worshiping Aphorist wisdom spoke to him. His spiritual life consisted of a little incense and meditation whenever he remembered, and a whole lot of not really thinking about it.


    He certainly didn¡¯t worship the Crowns though. Even if they hadn¡¯t actively discouraged it, there had never really seemed to be much to gain from them. The Summer Prince danced and drunk and feasted and fornicated and that was all he seemed to care for. King E?rrach appeared to merely tolerate things like towns, buildings and airships, and most often it was only the occasional traveler deep in the wilds that even laid eyes on him. Queen Talvi was, appropriately, aloof and cold, and while she did hold court and grant advice and insight to petitioners, her words were usually impenetrably cryptic.


    And as for Lady Haust, nobody even had the faintest idea what she looked like. Her name in Feydh was Valkyr, ¡°hidden-face,¡± and legend had it she preferred to live humbly and anonymously, pretending to be mortal.


    No, no matter how powerful they may be, or how intimately they were bound to the Worlds that bore their names, the Crowns simply didn''t seem worth praying to. At best, it was a waste of time.


    At worst it was a good way to annoy them.


    Even these tepid feelings were more charity than Jerl was inclined to give the Oneists at the moment though, given that three of his crew and a number of blameless whores were dead and their cult was somehow involved. He¡¯d read some of their pamphlets out of curiosity, and found¡­well. Some interesting ideas. Food for thought. He¡¯d even entertained the idea of attending a service and learning more. But now?


    Now, he had to wonder what was really going on with them. Suddenly, the street preachers, the little booklets, the temples and the growing congregation all seemed much more sinister.


    The thoughts scattered from his mind as the breeze carried, he could have sworn, the sound of an airship¡¯s engines to his ears. Looking upward revealed nothing, though. It was a reasonably clear and dry day, but search though he might, Jerl could not see any dark specks moving across the sky.


    Nor, when he listened, could he hear anything. Had he imagined it? He was low on sleep, drained from the adrenaline rush of the fall, and twitchy with the thought of being pursued, so it was possible he¡¯d only heard a paranoid phantom of his imagination¡­


    He uttered the fervent hope to whatever spirits might be listening that it was so, and hauled himself up the ladder onto the Queen''s deck. He directed ten of the lads to take rope and a hand-cart and help Derghan, checked in with Sin who was directing the repairs below, then found Amir up on the poop deck.


    The navigator was, well, navigating. He had his sextant out and was carefully measuring the angle to various distant landmarks across the sky before comparing them with the Observatory¡¯s almanac.


    ¡°Know where we are yet?¡± Jerl asked him.


    ¡°Manaar, one of the lesser earthmotes. About¡­fifty, sixty miles from Crae Manaan, I think,¡± Amir replied. His forehead had a number of worried creases in it.


    ¡°...Is that a problem?¡±


    ¡°Maybe. Let me show you.¡± Amir trotted down the stairs and ducked into the quarters behind the wheelhouse, where he had unrolled a map onto the cartographer''s table. The corners of the paper were being held down by a pewter tankard, a coin purse, one of Jerl''s pistols, and the box. Amir set his notebook down and consulted it as he picked up and employed an assortment of measuring tools, and tacked lengths of string to the map as he worked out the angles.


    As he laid down the second string, he hung his head and swore. ¡°Crowns damn it all, sometimes I wish I was wrong.¡±


    The lines crossed, representing their current location, at the edge of a zone marked on the map in red ink. Jerl leaned forward for a better look.


    ¡°G?l Nornacha,¡± he read. ¡°¡®The Cronewood. Beware the nornfey.¡¯ Nornfey?¡±


    ¡°¡®Hag elves.¡¯¡± Amir translated. ¡°Forest elves that King E?rrach punished about eight hundred years ago.¡±


    ¡°Punished how? And for what?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know. Maybe Sin could tell you more. All I know is, the cartographers don''t put warnings like that on a map unless they''re deadly serious. The bad old days of writing ¡®here there are Dragon¡¯s childer¡¯ on a boring bit to spice things up are long gone.¡±


    ¡°Out of the frying pan...?¡±


    ¡°I hope not. But I should pass the word to keep weapons to hand. Somehow, I doubt we¡¯re away clean and safe just yet¡­¡±


    <hr>


    Jerl eventually found something to occupy his time in the belly of the ship, taking inventory of the cargo and supplies they¡¯d lost when the hold ruptured. It was out of the way as the crew fixed the rigging, sewed the gas envelope and remounted the engine, and he could hear Derghan working in the engine room, whistling as he beat the fuel distributor back into shape. The job could only last so long, however, and so he was treating himself to a well-earned smoke break when he heard footsteps down the stairs and Derghan''s distant whistling stopped.


    ¡°Sin! To what do I owe the pleasure?¡± Jerl heard him say.


    ¡°Have you got a minute?¡± If she hadn''t been the only woman aboard, Jerl almost wouldn''t have recognised Sinikka''s voice. He had never heard her sound so¡­uncertain of herself before. Almost vulnerable.


    ¡°For you? I shouldn''t say yes, but¡­¡± Derghan¡¯s tone changed, from jovial flirtation to open concern. ¡°...Is something wrong?¡±


    ¡°No. No. I just need to¡­there¡¯s something I want to tell you.¡±


    ¡°Can¡¯t it wait?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d¡­rather it didn¡¯t.¡±


    There was a long pause, then a thunk as Derghan pushed some tools aside and sat down on something.


    ¡°Okay. Whatever you need to get off your chest, I''ll listen.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s about us.¡±


    Jerl grimaced. There was no real expectation of privacy on a ship, but even so¡­if he could have slipped away silently in that moment, he would have. This wasn¡¯t a conversation for his ears.


    ¡°I thought there wasn¡¯t an ¡®us,¡¯¡± Derghan replied. ¡°You made that pretty clear a while back.¡±


    ¡°You deserve to know why.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not stupid, Sin. You¡¯re nearly twelve thousand years old, I¡¯m barely forty. I figure everything I need to know about why is right there. You¡¯re an immortal, I¡¯m a mayfly, you don¡¯t want to put yourself through the pain of outliving me. That about the shape of it?¡±


    Sin sighed. ¡°It doesn¡¯t work like that.¡±


    ¡°Okay¡­?¡±


    ¡°What I¡¯m saying is¡­no, that¡¯s not it. We could be together, get old together¡­it¡¯d work. It¡¯d be a happy memory for the next me, not a sad one, nay?¡±


    ¡°Sounds nice.¡± There was a slight shift, exactly as of a large man scooting along a bench. ¡°So why don¡¯t we?¡±


    ¡°Chal-an-chal.¡± Pause. ¡°A life for a life. I¡¯m¡­we¡¯re paying off a debt. All my selves are, and have been for a long time. It¡¯s a big debt.¡±


    ¡°How big?¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ve barely started.¡±


    Derghan was silent for a second as he absorbed this. ¡°...Okay¡­¡± he said slowly. ¡°But why does that stop y¡ªhello? Who¡¯s there?¡±


    Dammit. Jerl squared his shoulders and did his best to pretend his was coming astern from a forward compartment as he picked his way among the hammocks and stuck his head around the engine room door.


    ¡°Hey,¡± he nodded at Derghan, then turned to Sin. ¡°Uh, Amir says we''re in hag elf territory, whoever they are. Said you might be able to tell me something about ¡®em.¡±


    ¡°The nornfey? Shit.¡± She nodded and stood, and cast a backwards glance at Derghan. ¡°We¡¯ll¡­pick this up later,¡± she suggested.


    Derghan glanced at Jerl, then nodded and stood up, picking up his tools. ¡°Aye. I¡¯d like that.¡±


    Sinikka followed Jerl up the stairs.


    ¡°How much did you hear?¡± she asked as they stepped out into the open daylight.


    Jerl gave her an apologetic look. ¡°More than I meant to. Sorry.¡±


    ¡°No, it¡¯s okay. No such thing as privacy on this tub anyway, nay?¡± she looked back down the steps. ¡°I¡¯m just worried we don¡¯t have much time.¡±


    ¡°Hey, we¡¯ve got out of some bad spots before. Remember that run in with the Two Sisters pirates?¡± he tapped his ear, reminding her of the fight that had cost her the pointed tip of her own, in the same knife-stroke that put a nasty scar down her right cheek.


    Her hand flew to it, but then she shook her head. ¡°They were the smallest of small fry next to this, Jerl!¡±


    ¡°You worry about the future too much.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m your quartermaster. That¡¯s my job, nay?¡±


    Jerl stopped by the railing too look overboard. ¡°You want some advice?¡± he asked.


    She blinked at him, then shrugged and gestured as if to say ¡®sure.¡¯


    ¡°Maybe you need to worry less about the past and future and just try to enjoy the moment.¡±


    ¡°Believe me, Jerl, you¡¯re not the first person to tell me that.¡±


    ¡°So why don¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°¡®Cuz I don¡¯t deserve to. And let¡¯s leave it at that. If there¡¯s nornfey around you need me sharp, not melancholy.¡± She jerked her head toward the cabin.


    Jerl opened his mouth to argue, but one look at her assertively blank expression told him it would be futile. So instead, he sighed and made an inviting ¡®after you¡¯ gesture.


    Sin nodded and led the way ¡°Too bad he¡¯s not into men,¡± she commented, a little more lightly. ¡°You could both do with some joy. And you¡¯d make a cute couple.¡±


    Jerl laughed, ¡°Oh, so you do know about that. I¡¯d wondered.¡±


    ¡°Please, Jerl, I¡¯ve known you since you were a lad. Crowns, I¡¯m pretty sure I¡¯m the last woman you ever gave a thoughtful look to.¡±


    ¡°Twenty years ago!¡± he protested. ¡°When I was a confused and insecure boy!¡±


    ¡°Relax mellwan, I¡¯m just teasing.¡± She smiled and paused outside the cabin. ¡°Still. You¡¯re one to lecture me on my lack of a romantic life.¡±


    Jerl made a scornful sound in his throat. ¡°I want a heavy coin purse, a pipe of good leaf, a full tankard and a fair wind at our back,¡± he said, and paused to pat the Cavalier Queen''s structure fondly. ¡°Love is at the bottom of my list.¡±


    ¡°Exactly. You have other priorities, and so do I. So you steer your own ship, and leave me to steer mine, nay?¡±


    ¡°...Fair.¡±


    Amir looked up from his books and frowned at them as they swept into the captain''s quarters where Jerl sat down at his desk, leaned back in his chair and put his boots up on the desk, lighting his pipe. Sin leaned against the doorframe.


    ¡°Did you ever tell your dad?¡± she asked.


    ¡°No. And I don¡¯t think he guessed, either. But I don¡¯t think it would¡¯ve bothered him much.¡±


    ¡°Still. He went to his grave not knowing something important about you. I¡­for my part, I don¡¯t like leaving business like that unfinished, nay?¡±


    ¡°If only he¡¯d gone to something as restful as a grave¡­¡± Jerl sighed, suddenly feeling the full weight of all the hours he¡¯d been awake.


    Sin blinked then looked away with a tic of self-irritation. Her fingers unconsciously came up to play with her vamdraech, the suicide dagger that all elves carried over their heart to spare themselves from the one fate that could destroy their soul-line. ¡°Sorry.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s alright...I do still miss him,¡± Jerl admitted. ¡°Nine years on and there''s a dad-shaped wound in me that¡¯ll never really heal. Jokes I''ll never hear again, advice I''ll never be able to ask for...and¡­yeah. Things I was always going to get around to telling him one day.¡±


    Sinikka sat down. ¡°How do you bear knowing that you left that unfinished between you?¡± she asked.


    Jerl shrugged ¡°I try and be present in the here and now. Live and enjoy what I can, while I can. Pay my taxes in pain and grief because that¡¯s just the cost of living, and¡­don¡¯t fret over what I can¡¯t change or undo.¡±


    ¡°Somebody very dear to me once told me that the only way death can hurt the living is if we waste our lives on mourning,¡± Amir added.


    Jerl gestured agreement and thanks by wagging the stem of his pipe at him. ¡°Quite right. And you have an eternity of lives to waste, Sin. I love you like a big sister, I don''t want you do that to yourself. Even if it¡¯s something you¡¯ve been doing for hundreds of lives, you can always stop.¡±


    Though Sin smiled slightly at the ¡®I love you,¡¯ she remained silent, and for a moment there was only the ticking of the ship''s clock and the sound of the crew hard at work outside. Eventually, she shook her head and stood up.


    ¡°Hag elves,¡± she said. ¡°What do you want to know?¡±


    Jerl glanced at Amir. They traded a shrug, and decided to drop it. They had more immediate concerns anyway.


    ¡°Everything,¡± he said.


    <hr>


    Their city had been Nen Unelmasa¡ªthe Dreaming Trees. By human standards, it would barely have qualified as a village, but elves preferred smaller and more close-knit communities. Nen Unelmasa had been woven through the canopy and branches of the Dreaming Trees, and housed a tribe of nearly four hundred on the day of punishment.


    Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.


    At the time, Sin had been a girl of twelve, enjoying the carefree childhood before an elf came of age and regained their soul-memories. Her tribe had been motekeepers who maintained a caravanserai on one the tiny nomadic islands known as ¡°wandering motes¡± which, before the invention of airships, had been the only way for travelers to journey between earthmotes.


    Even from across the Worlds, they felt it¡ªall the elves did. The emotion that gripped them had been not unlike the feeling of being jilted. Rejection, anger, resentment, emotional pain, shame...they didn''t know why, but for just a few seconds they were swept up in a god''s rage, which became a cold, horrible resolve and then the sensation passed.


    After that great psychic event, The Unelmasa tribe ceased contact. More worrying still, no elves were born whose memories included living in the city at the time of that event or afterwards. In those pre-airship years when travel was so difficult and slow, it took a long time for word to spread and a party to finally be sent to investigate


    They never returned. When the investigators were finally reborn, their soul-memories told of elves turned twisted and awful, almost shade-like. They ambushed and cut down the investigators, capturing only one¡­and even with the cleansing barrier of death and rebirth to dull the experience she was still unwilling to go into detail about what they had done to her previous self.


    It was on her advice that the Dreaming Trees and surrounding forest were renamed G?l Nornacha, and its residents were dubbed the nornfey¡ªhag elves.


    ¡°So King E?rrach made them that way?¡± Amir asked.


    Sin shook her head. ¡°No, we¡¯re pretty sure they were the ones who twisted themselves and their city in the first place,¡± she said. ¡°Though how or why, nobody knows. And exactly what the Huntsman¡¯s punishment was, he¡¯s never deigned to share.¡±


    ¡°Any theories?¡± Amir asked. Sin shrugged and shook her head.


    Jerl poured out some wine for them all. ¡°What about your own research, Amir?¡±


    Amir licked his fingertip thoughtfully so he could turn a page. ¡°Crae Manaan isn¡¯t far from here. The thaighn used to keep a company of rangers watching the woods,¡± he said. ¡°Apparently during Eclipse the hag elves used to go abroad and raid whatever settlements they could reach. So, people just moved further away, and the ranger watch was disbanded.¡±


    ¡°They went abroad in Eclipse?¡± Jerl repeated, incredulously.


    ¡°Untouched and unmolested by the Shades, apparently. I have no idea how that¡¯s possible.¡±


    ¡°But it¡¯s true,¡± Sin added, grimly.


    ¡°That''s...troubling.¡±


    ¡°Highly,¡± Amir agreed. ¡°And frankly, I doubt they could have failed to notice an airship falling out of the sky and crashing on their doorstep. The sooner we¡¯re ready to fly out of here, the happier I shall be.¡±


    ¡°I''ll order a double-strength watch tonight,¡± Jerl assured him. ¡°When¡¯s the next eclipse in these parts?¡±


    Amir shook his head. ¡°Not until next year.¡±


    ¡°Good.¡± He stood up. ¡°Thanks. I¡¯ll let you get on with what you were doing.¡±


    Sin nodded and ducked back out of the room. Jerl guessed she wanted to finish her conversation with Derghan. Amir meanwhile set about tidying up his charts and maps. Jerl¡­


    Jerl realized suddenly that he had a quiet moment, and he hadn¡¯t slept properly last night. The smart thing for him to do, most likely, was to turn in early.


    Well. Far be it for him to not do the smart thing. He dropped his pistols and saber on the desk, hung his coat on the back of the door, and closed the cabin door, gaining the luxury of privacy and quiet. His bed wasn¡¯t wide, but it was comfortable enough to have him yawning before he¡¯d even taken his boots off.


    He rolled onto his side, pulled the blanket over him, and closed his eyes, and tried to let go of his worries, for just a little while.


    <hr>


    As it happened, he slept only a little and uncomfortably. It felt too strange to be sleeping aboard ship without the background noise of the engines to sing him a lullaby, and he couldn¡¯t shake the hunted feeling in the back of his head. He dozed fitfully without ever feeling like he¡¯d actually fallen to sleep, and finally lurched out of bed around midnight to pour himself a stiff whisky and light a magestone. Tired as he was, he didn¡¯t make it particularly strong or bright, but it was enough to examine himself in the mirror by.


    Six foot even of lean, weathered and olive-skinned human being gave him an exhausted stare from the other side. Man and reflection raised their drinks, which met with a click of glass on glass, and Jerl noted that he looked fucking rough.


    A couple of restless nights would do that. He ran a hand through his hair (dark, thick and getting too long on top) and scratched at his beard stubble (much overdue a shave, but without hot water that wasn¡¯t happening tonight) then decided if he couldn¡¯t sleep he may as well update the log.


    For the next twenty minutes or so the only sounds in the cabin were the ticking of the clock, and the scratching of his pen as he recorded the events of the last few days, making careful note of Gebby¡¯s, Tarruk¡¯s and Padrig¡¯s deaths and how much he owed to their next of kin.


    Finally, after much writing, he yawned and stretched, job done. As he did so, a floorboard creaked where no foot should have been.


    Maybe it was paranoia, maybe it was a lifetime of dodging danger in one deal gone bad or another, or perhaps it was just the fact of the last few days that made him duck, with the result that the garotte only scraped his scalp rather than looping around his neck. He kicked out backwards and felt his foot connect with something which grunted and stumbled away from him.


    He grabbed the pistol that had been holding the corner of the map down and turned, only to nearly lose his hand as a sword flashed in the dark and disarmed him. He threw his glass of whisky in his attacker''s face instead. This purchased him just enough time to arm himself with the sabres on his desk and ward off a vicious blow.


    He was about to shout the alarm when somebody began to ring the bell out on deck. There was shouting and gunfire.


    His attacker was an elf, though of a complexion unlike any Jerl had seen before. They had hair as black as a raven''s wing, and white skin. Not the matte white of clouds, paper and snow like Sinikka''s, but the anemic pale of a corpse drained of blood, upon which were scrawled angular tattoos that seemed to be half art, half language.


    It was the eyes that nearly fatally scared the fight out of him, though. He had seen eyes like that before.


    It had speed and reach, lifetimes of soul-memory experience, was wearing leather armor and had him on the back foot. He was clad only in his undergarments and was fatigued and faintly drunk.


    On pure desperate instinct, therefore, he flung himself forward rather than let the elf attack, swatting at their weapon wrist with his empty left hand as they parried his sword. The result was a stinging gash on his right arm as he slipped inside the enemy''s guard, but the gamble paid off. The elf was taken completely off guard, and reeled as he drove his forehead into their nose, which became a river of what should have been blood but instead resembled black ink.


    They tried desperately to escape from him and reclaim the advantage, but Jerl was relentless. He drove his empty left hand into the hag elf¡¯s ribs, hard. There was a satisfying crunch and the clatter of a sword being dropped. Then the hag elf returned the favor and delivered a punishing blow to his face that made his vision flash and completely killed his sense of which way was up. He stumbled, hit something solid, and fell.


    Nobody that skinny should punch like that...!


    It was not a sensible thought to be having at the time, but it was the only one he could muster as the elf stamped on the pommel of their sword, caught it as it leapt in the air like a salmon, and advanced towards him with a murderous grin.


    Jerl somehow raised his sabre and warded off the first stroke. The second drove his guard wide, the third disarmed him. Then there was a shot and the elf''s head wobbled on its shoulders as one side of their skull became a puff of bone and black blood.


    Amir lowered Jerl''s smoking pistol.


    ¡°Good shot,¡± Jerl thanked him, shaking his head to clear it.


    ¡°I should get out on deck if I were you,¡± Amir said. ¡°I''ll guard the box.¡±


    Jerl nodded. He took the elf''s sword, grabbed his second pistol and flung open the door.


    Boarding melees were always a mess, but the men of the Cavalier Queen were veterans, and had been armed and ready. Gangs of men were teaming up on individually superior elfish warriors and dragging them down with teamwork. It wasn''t all going their way, though: for every spot where Marren and Derghan were fighting back-to-back, or where Sinikka was dueling two of the attackers by herself and winning, there was another warrior had cut through the defenders and was threatening their backs. Jerl could see several of his men were down already.


    One of the hag elves saw him emerge from the cabin and charged. They were skilled, but Jerl was stronger, and fought dirtier and more desperately. When the elf darted in to slash at him, he grabbed their wrist, bullied forward, drove the hilt of his sword into their face and then cut their throat while they were still stunned and spitting teeth.


    Time stretched as it always did in a melee. A handful of seconds ballooned into a subjective eternity of violence as he saved crewman Vando''s life by stabbing an elf from behind, only for Vando to save his own life in turn. They dragged one of Sinikka''s opponents off her blade and cut them to ribbons while she turned her full wrath on the other. A third nearly got the drop on all of them, only for a shot to tear out the hag¡¯s throat¡ªthey never did find out who fired it.


    Then Jerl was spinning in the middle of the deck, looking for a new foe to slay and there were none. Just corpses, bleeding red and black all over the deck...and a splash of red blood on the cabin door¡¯s glass.


    ¡°Amir!¡± he cried, and rushed to the open door just as a bloody hand gripped it at about ankle height, shaking. Amir was trying to heave himself through.


    ¡°The box!¡± he choked, grabbing at Jerl¡¯s hand as Jerl knelt beside him. There was a long knife protruding from his lower back. ¡°They took the...¡±


    He coughed again, collapsed and was still.


    There was a long, awful silence.


    Sinikka was the first to speak. ¡°Chal fa, mellwan...¡± she said, wiped her eyes, and spun away to mourn by herself, at the prow.


    Jerl could do nothing more than just sit down on the deck and weep. Similar scenes were playing out all over the deck as the crew found their fallen comrades. Marren had his arm around Villo, who was inconsolably cradling his brother''s body.


    Derghan sank down to sit on the deck against the rail, and dropped his axe. ¡°How many more?¡± he asked quietly, after a silent moment.


    Jerl blinked at him, looked at Amir¡¯s sadly mutilated body, and his strength returned to him in a mad angry rush.


    He vaulted up onto the rail and pointed wildly at all the Worlds in general. ¡°Go on then!¡± he roared, half insane. ¡°Answer the man! How many more?¡±


    There was, unsurprisingly, no response. ¡°How many more?!¡±


    The only answer was his own faint echo, and the sound of trees in the wind.


    ¡°Fine! Fuck you!¡± He hopped off the rail and vanished into his cabin. Shell-shocked crew, none of whom had ever seen him in such a rage, milled around and listened as they heard crashing and smashing from inside. When he emerged, he was wearing not just his coat and boots, but had his gun belt on.


    ¡°I''m going after those black-blooded freaks,¡± he said, thumbing rounds into pistols¡¯ cylinders. Even to his own ears, his voice sounded disturbingly calm after the storm he¡¯d just let out. ¡°I''m going to get the box our mates died for back, I''m going to find out what''s in it, I''m going to find out who''s after it, and then I''m going to shove it so far up their arse it''ll break their teeth out. Marren!¡±


    ¡°Skipper!¡± Marren was on his feat in an instant.


    ¡°Bury the dead, then get my ship running,¡± Jerl ordered, already climbing down the rope ladder.


    Marren nodded, then turned to the crew. ¡°You heard him, lads. Sooner we work, sooner we leave...¡±


    Jerl was nearly to the tree line when Sinikka and Derghan caught up with him. ¡°Not you!¡± he snapped at Derghan. ¡°I need you on the engines.¡±


    ¡°With all due respect skipper, shove it up your arse,¡± Derghan said. Jerl stopped and rounded on him, but something in Derghan''s expression stopped him. ¡°He was my friend too,¡± Derghan said, simply.


    ¡°We¡¯ll need the ship to get out of this,¡± Jerl pointed out.


    ¡°The engines are ready, Jerl. It¡¯s just the rigging now, and Marren¡¯s got that in hand. They don¡¯t need me, you do.¡±


    ¡°This isn''t sensible, what I¡¯m doing,¡± Jerl told him.


    ¡°Shades take sensible!¡± Derghan snarled. ¡°If that bloody box wants to kill you too, it''ll have to go through me first!¡±


    His expression was as set and determined as Sinikka''s. Jerl knew his own must not be much different, and there was nothing either of them could have said to talk him out of it, so¡­


    He stared at them for a second, then nodded and turned back toward the woods.


    Together, they marched into the dark.


    <hr>


    <h2>Interlude: The Airship Cavalier Queen</h2>


    Above the world-sphere of Haust 09.05.14.05.16


    It had been the wrong call to fly tonight.


    Arneld Holten was not a man prone to bad calls, but now his error of judgment meant the storm he¡¯d thought they would safely outpace had instead swept them up, and only his skills as a pilot were allowing them to surf the atmospheric turbulence the great weather front was pushing ahead of it.


    He began to curse himself for not getting those new-fangled ¡°engine¡± things fitted. With a pair of those they might have been able to descend to the surface of Haust, furl the bag and sails and weather the storm. Now they were flying blind and equally in danger of being struck by lightning or getting caught in a dangerous eddy that would shred the rigging.


    Boots thumped on the deck behind him and he glanced over his shoulder at his son as Jerl dropped down off the rigging.


    ¡°Port elevator holding, sir!¡± he reported, voice raised above the wind and eyes narrowed against the rain. Arn knew his son well, though¡ªthe boy only called his old man ¡°sir¡± when things were deadly serious.


    ¡°Very good Mister Holten!¡± he replied. ¡°Talk to the navigator, get me a heading!¡±


    ¡°Aye aye!¡±


    Arn could do little more than squint forward, hoping to catch a glimpse of anything through the clouds ahead. It did him little good. After a few moments there was an ¡°oof!¡± as Jerl slipped on the wet deck behind him then pulled himself up against the wheelhouse railing.


    ¡°No can do, sir! Navigator can''t see shit!¡±


    Hardly surprising.. Even the sun and the Roil were invisible behind dense dark walls of clouds, and without those, there was no way to know their current direction. Without being able to see the far side of the worlds, there were no landmarks to calculate their current position. Without either of those, there was no way to know what danger the storm might blow them into next.


    ¡°Give me a speed!¡± he shouted. Jerl rushed away astern to throw a line and count knots. It was make-work to keep the boy from seeing his old man''s mounting fear.


    Arn was beginning to suspect he''d got them killed.


    The storm was definitely gaining, and as it did so a vicious cross-wind almost tore the wheel from his hands. He put his full weight on it, and for a second it held, then he collapsed to the deck as all resistance suddenly left it.


    Jerl came sprinting back from aft. ¡°Rudder''s broken!¡± he shouted.


    ¡°How bad?¡± Arn tried the wheel. It turned easily and freely, more so than it would have done on a clear day in open sky.


    ¡°Snapped clean off! The wind took it! I¡ªShit! Look!¡±


    Jerl pointed forward. Arn strained to see, and then ice gripped his heart. The clouds ahead weren''t clouds at all. They were cliffs.


    There were only two possible fates for an airship storm-swept toward an earthmote¡¯s edge cliffs. If they were very lucky, they would merely be smashed against the rock and killed.


    Then he saw that they were too low, and luck had abandoned them.


    ¡°Ring the bell!¡± he cried. Jerl was ahead of the order, diving for the big brass bell that hung on the deck for only one dreadful reason. Its peal was the last noise any airshipman wanted to hear, and across the Queen''s deck men froze at its first ring, then sprinted for the companionway, where they could huddle together, light magestone torches and pray to survive the coming darkness.


    The ship entered the turbulent zone where the storm winds broke against the great stone cliffs ahead and washed back. Jerl and Arn had lurched only half-way to the cabin when the Queen''s prow suddenly dropped, and the deck became a steep slope of wet wood. Both men lost their footing and slid.


    Arn felt his leg break as he landed hard and awkwardly in the wheelhouse. Jerl tumbled past him, hit the forward railing, flipped out into open air, and fell.


    ¡°Jerl! No!¡± it was a desperate, forlorn cry, but the boy had more iron in him than his old man, and twisted like a cat as he fell. Somehow snatched at the rigging as he fell past it, and saved himself from the long fall down to Haust by only the narrowest of margins. He waved an arm and shouted, but Arn couldn¡¯t hear him over the maelstrom.


    He roared in pain as he hauled himself to his one good foot, and grabbed at the brass levers that controlled the ship''s control surfaces. He had to employ a fine touch ¨C too much force and they would go the way of the rudder. Too little, and they would plunge into the darkness under the world with their nose still pointed at the ground.


    Jerl swung on the rigging, leaped off and scrambled up the deck, shouting something. Arn could see what he meant now. They had bare seconds to reach illumination and safety. He gave the controls one last wrench, left the ship''s navigation to fate, and turned to limp towards safety.


    Too slow. Much too slow. His leg gave out beneath him and he crawled, then howled in agony as Jerl picked him up bodily off the deck and started to drag him. But it was too late. Much too late. He could see Sinikka holding the door of the cabin and screaming for them, beckoning with her right hand while the left held the point of her vamdraech so tight to her chest that she was bleeding. But closer still was the wall of blackness they were about to cross.


    They weren¡¯t going to make it.


    Arn did the only thing he could do now: he braced his foot against the deck, put his hands in the small of Jerl''s back, and shoved hard. Caught completely off-guard, the lad tripped forward into Sin''s welcoming arms. He screamed and tried to turn back, but the elf wouldn''t let him go. Instead she threw the both of them back into the room and kicked the door shut as the Cavalier Queen''s inheritor and new captain clawed and fought to be let loose.


    Then the dark swept across them, and Jerl and Sinikka were safe in their little cocoon of light. A hundred grasping hands of smoke and darkness tore Arn apart. The last expression on his corporeal face was the smile of knowing that his boy was safe, even as his eyes emptied and his flesh became dust and he blew away on the wind before Jerl''s horrified eyes.


    His Shade stood there in the rain. Alone of all the ones around it, it had a warm, loving expression rather than a tortured, terrified rictus. A flash of lightning cleared the damned from the deck, and when the darkness returned, Arneld Holten was gone.


    Jerl turned his face into Sinikka''s arms and wept.


    <hr>


    <blockquote>


    ¡°The second law of magic is this: No human may work magic upon their own body, and no elf may work magic upon anything other than their own body. This is the Law of Form.¡± ¡ªThe Initiate¡¯s Guide to Magecraft


    </blockquote>


    <h2>The Cronewood</h2>


    Manaar Earthmote, the world-sphere of E?rrach 09.06.03.06.05


    Sin raised a hand above her shoulder and the three of them sank to their knees. There was simply no question of arguing against her self-appointment as scout. She had far more experience than they did, and sharper senses.


    After a tense, still moment she gestured ¡®come here.¡¯ Jerl and Derghan moved to her side, staying low.


    ¡°Trap,¡± she whispered. Jerl couldn¡¯t see it, but he didn¡¯t doubt her.


    ¡°Ambush?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Boar pit. Damn good one, though.¡±


    ¡°First sign of these bastards we¡¯ve seen since leaving the ship,¡± Derghan muttered, ¡°and it''s a bloody pig hole.¡±


    ¡°Hopefully means we¡¯re getting close,¡± Sin replied as she led them around it. They scrambled up a short cliff of bare earth, using jutting roots for handholds, then paused in astonishment at the top as they laid eyes on the landscape beyond.


    Thus far, their pursuit had been through an ordinary forest of healthy deciduous trees, carpeted richly brown in fallen leaves, with only the occasional bush and fallen log to impede them, decorated every so often some mushrooms, and haunted only by the rustling of small animals and the distant sound of a pontificating owl.


    Now, it was almost like there was a line on the ground. On their side, a handsome and spacious forest. On the other¡­the Cronewood.


    Trees that should have grown straight and limber were instead as gnarled as gorse and as gray as tombstones, their roots buried in black leaf-litter speckled with rot. Biting insects lurched between the trees from bramble thicket to thorn bush, through spectral shafts of reflected far-light, and the sickly glow of mushrooms.


    The transition was so abrupt that when Derghan experimentally laid his foot across it they discovered that he could have his heel in one world, and his toes in another.


    The brambles which at first glance appeared as if they might be a welcome source of additional cover turned out to be everywhere, and delighted in snagging on coats, sleeves, and hair. Faced with a choice between rustling like a whole herd of cattle, or a silent but glacial pace, they opted for the latter and their progress slowed dramatically.


    It felt like hours. Probably it was only minutes until Sinikka again stopped and raised a hand. This time, she turned her palm flat to the ground and lowered it slowly, and the two men dropped onto their stomachs and wriggled in the disgusting leaf-mold, following her up a bank. As they neared the top, Jerl realized that he could hear a sound.


    ¡°Drumming?¡± he mouthed. Sinikka nodded, pointed firmly to the ground¡ª¡®stay here¡¯¡ªand then sprinted for the bole of a tree, making nary a whisper of noise. She glanced around the twisted trunk, and then gestured for them to follow.


    There was firelight ahead.


    Jerl and Derghan followed her example in ghosting from tree to tree, and Jerl just hoped it didn¡¯t matter that their clumsier footsteps made more noise. It seemed likely: the drumming was already quite loud, and as they got closer it was joined by the shrill voice of some form of instrument, and voices raised in song.


    At any other time, in any other place, Jerl would have thought it sounded like a hell of a party. Instead, he felt a chilly knot in his stomach.


    His heart jumped up his throat as a vast shadow eclipsed the firelight for an instant, followed by another: figures dancing wildly around the flames. They were getting close now, and rather than blunder straight into the ritual¡¯s heart, Sinikka instead chose to dive down on her belly again and crawl forward through the underbrush, trusting the drumming and singing to drown out any noise they made.


    Beside him, Derghan uttered an oath as their quarry came into view. ¡°Haust''s blood!¡± he hissed.


    Jerl had heard and seen enough to be expecting a big fire, but the spectacle was greater than he¡¯d anticipated. The bonfire was immense, fueled by whole logs stacked twice as tall as a man. The flames were a tornado, drawing in a wind so strong that the dancing hag elves¡¯ hair whipped and flailed crazily as they gyrated around the blaze, their pallid bodies naked save for bestial death masks of antler, leather, bone and wicker.


    All of that, however, paled next to the statues.


    There were four; monolithic, taller than the surrounding trees, and clearly intended to be an unflattering mockery of the Crowns. Their faces were twisted into ugly sneers of contempt as they reached one arm toward the center to grasp (or perhaps wrestle over) a stone ring suspended between them, directly above the bonfire.


    Jerl had been privileged to see elven fire dances before, but this one was different: this was no joyous celebration of spirit and community, but a conscious and calculated blasphemy. The bitterness and resentment of an entire tribe whipping themselves into a hateful frenzy was almost palpable, like a filthy fog in the air that left him feeling polluted.


    He was still staring in appalled awe when Derghan nudged him. ¡°The box!¡± he hissed, and pointed.


    There, on an altar of stone draped in furs, was the box that Amir had died defending. An elf was stood behind the altar, their arms raised towards the flames and mouth moving, though whatever they were chanting was completely lost in the music and animalistic whooping. Their undefended back was turned toward the dark forest.


    ¡°Okay, if we circle around to...¡± Jerl began, and then trailed off as something utterly unexpected stepped into view.


    There was a human present, strolling slowly around the outside of the statue circle with his hands tucked comfortably behind his back. He was a tall, older man dressed in a quality embroidered silk shirt, with a pair of exquisitely decorated pistols on his hips, and from a chain around his neck hung the simple steel ring worn by Oneists. He seemed quite calm and casual, almost bored, as though the profane rite in front of him was just a tiresome formality.


    His face, however, was instantly familiar. Nobody could fail to recognise those shrewd glittering eyes or that bushy, waxed blond mustache. He was the wealthiest and most infamous man in the Worlds, the owner and president of the Clear Skies Guild, and the mad bastard who¡¯d dug deeper and darker than anyone before.


    ¡°What in the fuck is Nils Civorage doing here?¡± Derghan whispered.


    <hr>


    ¡°I don''t get it. The hag elves are Oneists?¡± Jerl muttered. They had retreated away from the clearing and the immediate threat of discovery, but they kept their voices low and spoke quickly, not knowing how much time they had.


    ¡°Seems that way,¡± Sin agreed. ¡°Did you see the statues? The four Crowns, fighting over a ring?¡±


    Jerl nodded in agreement. ¡°That¡¯s Oneist symbolism alright. The ring represents...everything. All the Worlds and everything in them and everything else besides.¡± He shrugged when Derghan and Sin frowned at him ¡°I¡¯ve read their pamphlets.¡±


    ¡°You can feel that magic charge in the air, can''t you?¡± Derghan. ¡°Like lightning in m¡¯teeth.¡±


    ¡°Aye.¡±


    ¡°I''ll have to take your word for it, nay?¡± Sinikka said. ¡°So, they''re casting a spell.¡±


    ¡°A fuckin¡¯ powerful one, if a muckbrain like me can feel it,¡± Derghan told her. ¡°I thought elves couldn¡¯t do that?¡±


    ¡°We can¡¯t,¡± she agreed, casting a grim and worried look back toward the ritual.


    ¡°Maybe the nornfey found a loophole and that¡¯s why the Crowns punished them,¡± Jerl suggested. ¡°There¡¯s a lot going on we don¡¯t understand. All I know is I doubt we¡¯ll like it if they complete that casting.¡±


    ¡°Mm,¡± Sin grunted and nodded darkly. ¡°So. We get behind the shaman, I slit his throat, we grab the box, and we run like fuck.¡±


    ¡°What about Civorage?¡± Jerl asked. ¡°I¡¯d bet my last brass he¡¯s the one behind all this. He needs to pay. For Amir and all the lads.¡±


    ¡°That he fuckin¡¯ does, but, Jerl¡­¡± Derghan shook his head. ¡°It¡¯ll be a miracle if we make it back to the ship already. We stop to murder that bastard, we won¡¯t stand even that slim chance.¡±


    Sin nodded, agreeing with him. Jerl wrestled with his anger and need for justice for a moment, but¡­


    But if they all died in these woods, it would wasted.


    ¡°Fine. Just the box, then.¡±


    Time was against them. The magical energy in the air was by now so intense that it felt like a steady pressure against Jerl''s temples. Not painful, but as relentlessly unpleasant and distracting as a blocked sinus. They skirted back around the ritual, flitting between bars of welcoming dark among the great shafts of firelight through the trees until they could see the chanting shaman''s turned back only yards away.


    Jerl and Derghan took position on either side, rifles at the ready, and Sin went down the center with her fighting knife in hand, low and silent as a shadow.


    Ahead of her, the ritual was clearly reaching its climax. High up on the statues¡¯ shoulders, four hag elves had emerged, their bodies and faces painted to grotesquely parody the likenesses of Sayf, E?rrach, Haust and Talvi. They spread their arms wide out at their sides and then, placing their feet in time to the slow pulsing drumbeat, they walked out along the outstretched arms of the statues and into the superheated air above the fire.


    ¡°Fuck...are you seein'' this?¡± Derghan asked in a wavering croak. Even from where Jerl was standing the heat was almost intolerable, and the four were utterly naked. Immediately their flesh began to blister and cook, but they showed no sign of pain or fear and continued their steady, slow march without faltering, their expressions ecstatically blank.


    Sinikka glanced back at Jerl, clearly shaken by the spectacle herself. Jerl gestured her to hurry. She darted forward, readying her knife to strike.


    High on the statues, the four living effigies reached the central ring. They reached out and took each other''s hands even as their flesh caught fire. Still in perfect unison and perfect silence, they leaned inward and toppled rather than leapt into the heart of the fire.


    Sinikka pounced, and drove her dagger straight into the Shaman''s throat. The hag elf died almost instantly, unconscious even before Sin tore her dagger from their neck and stepped over their corpse to grab the box.


    Too late: the ritual was complete.


    A bolt of lightning flashed up from the depths of the flame, became a glowing nexus of energy in the middle of the stone ring and then lashed out to catch Sinikka full in the chest. It flung her back between Jerl and Derghan with a crack like an earthmote breaking in two: she landed in a crumpled heap, twitching and smoking as the energy squirreled around her body before earthing itself.


    They rushed to her side, fearing the worst, but she was already pushing herself up as they reached her, smoke curling from her hair and clothing.


    ¡°Fuck¡­.¡± she growled, and handed Jerl the box. As it landed in his hand, a pattern of green runes lit up just a fingernail clipping''s width above the surface of the wood. There were howls of rage from the clearing. Sin glanced back at the ritual circle, then lurched to her feet and took off running. ¡°Go, go!¡±


    Jerl didn¡¯t need telling twice. He stuffed the box into his coat¡¯s inside pocket, put his head down and ran as fast as he knew how, flinging himself through brambles and bushes heedless of the way the thorns tore at his clothing and flesh.


    They had a head start, and were out of sight of their pursuers, so they dodged and weaved between the trees, but they were leaving a trail a half-blind city child could have followed, let alone a woods-crafty elf.


    Jerl could only trust to Sinikka¡¯s sense of direction, and will himself to keep putting one foot in front of the other. The flight seemed to go on and on, stretching out time in terrible ways as he looked up and realized that the ritual¡¯s climax must have coincided with dawn: daylight had returned, and the Cronewood looked no more inviting for it than it had in the night¡¯s depths.


    Less, even. At least in the dark there had been a prayer of hiding.


    And Sin was definitely not unharmed. Her gait was neither swift nor sure-footed, and several times, Jerl saw her stumble. But even that didn¡¯t prepare him for the moment she collapsed.


    She was laboring to her feet again by the time he reached her, but he could see now what had been hidden before: The shock had left jagged red lines all across her skin, her eyes were bloodshot, and when she wiped her nose while standing she left behind a pink smear on her lip and a matching red one on the back of her hand.


    She glared a shut up at him and heaved herself back into a run. Jerl and Derghan caught each others'' eye and Jerl saw mirrored in his friend''s face the exact same worry that must have been etched into his own.


    The worry only deepened when there was a baying from behind them.


    ¡°Shit! Dogs,¡± Derghan swore.


    They crossed the sudden boundary between the Cronewood and the healthier trees outside and Jerl''s memory leapt. ¡°The boar trap! Sin, where is it?¡±


    She stopped and looked around. ¡°This way!¡±


    ¡°You think...fall into...their own trap?¡± Derghan asked between ragged breaths.


    ¡°They can''t all...know where it is...besides...the dogs will...¡± Jerl panted.


    They scrambled down a familiar earthen bank and rushed down an open avenue of trees until, with an agonized grunt, Sinikka leapt. Trusting her judgment, Jerl did the same, landed on mercifully solid ground and kept going, with Derghan following a second later.


    Barking behind them was Jerl''s prompt to look over his shoulder. Two immense, muscular dogs were bearing down on them at high speed with the stark-eyed, bare-fanged expression of maddened hounds going for the kill. Then a patch of the forest floor folded up under the first dog¡¯s paws and it vanished with a yelp and a sickly crunch that spoke of spikes at the bottom of the pit. The other dog was going too fast to stop and so tried to leap the gap, but misjudged it. Its forepaws scrabbled at the edge of the pit for just a second and then it fell backwards to a similar fate.


    Several elves rounded the corner at a dead run, easily moving faster than the exhausted trio. Jerl turned, drew and shot: the lead nornfey collapsed in the middle of drawing back their bowstring.


    ¡°Fight!¡± he roared, desperately.


    A throwing knife thrummed past his ear like a startled bird and one of the hag elves collapsed and tumbled through the leaf litter. Despite her wound, Sinikka''s throwing arm was still good. A moment later, Derghan¡¯s rifle hammered another archer to the ground in a puff of inky gore.


    The survivors closed with reckless disregard for their lives, uncaring of how many fell to Jerl¡¯s pistols and Derghan¡¯s rifle. Then the last two were too close, close enough for the war-dance to begin.


    Elves could not normally cast light spells, or heal a wound, or send a thought-message halfway across the worlds. But they had a magic of their own nonetheless: the power to push their bodies to incredible limits. An expert war-adept could run on the surface of water, scale sheer cliffs with nary a handhold, leap over houses and texture their skin to blend with their surroundings.


    Or, in this case, they could become a blur of supernatural speed. And if not for many long and grueling training sessions with Sinikka, that would have been Jerl¡¯s end.


    The trick was to counter-charge, instantly and madly, at the first flash of unnatural acceleration. Which was why, rather than gut him, the hag elf¡¯s wychwethel instead jammed awkwardly against Jerl¡¯s armor. Now they were close, wrestling, and so long as Jerl could bully the elf with his superior size and mass, he could win.


    He smashed the butt of his pistol into his foe¡¯s shoulder with a crunch of breaking bones. The elf lost their grip on the wychwethel, reeled back as Jerl shoved them, and died when he shot them right between the eyes. Black blood spattered his face, but he ignored it, aimed, fired: another archer teetered on their feet and collapsed.


    That was his last bullet, though. But thank fuck, the last hag elf was trying to fight Derghan and Sin at once, and didn''t stand a chance. They twisted and flowed desperately, evading Derghan¡¯s axe with incredible grace, but Jerl had seen Sin bisect a falling leaf: there was a blur, the wail of a wychwethel¡¯s killing strike, and when the hag elf collapsed to their knees, their head rolled cleanly from their shoulders.


    A moment of silent respite. But Jerl could hear whooping and shouting, still far too close for comfort. Panting, he dumped the brass out of his pistols¡¯ cylinders and started thumbing new rounds in while willing his hands not to tremble.


    Sin was leaning on her wychwethel, expression tight with pain. ¡°We''ll never reach the ship like this.¡±


    ¡°I brought a flare gun,¡± offered Derghan. ¡°Bring the ship to us.¡±


    ¡°It''ll bring the nornfey too,¡± Sinikka pointed out.


    ¡°They''ll catch us anyway. At least if the ship comes to us we''ll stand a chance.¡±


    Jerl finished reloading, snapped his guns shut, and beckoned for them to keep running. ¡°Do it.¡±


    Derghan took the gun from his belt, aimed it at a gap between the trees, and sent a point of startling red brilliance up to hang over the forest canopy.


    ¡°Now we''d better hope they got ¡®er fixed,¡± he said.


    <hr>


    They continued to run, figuring that the further they went the longer it would be before the dark fey caught up with them, and the sooner it would be before they intercepted the ship. Jerl couldn''t stop glancing at Sinikka to check on her health. It seemed to him almost as if the pink lines were getting thicker and more numerous, and the thickest of them had creeping cores of blackness, as though her flesh was rotting even as they ran.


    She caught him staring, of course.


    ¡°Don''t say it,¡± she snarled.


    ¡°Sin¡ª¡±


    ¡°Don''t say it. Aargh!¡± She folded up, and her limbs juddered and seized for a few disturbing seconds.


    ¡°Sin...¡± Derghan knelt next to her, anguish creasing his face behind his beard. With a sudden surge of strength she grabbed the back of his head, sat up and whispered something into his ear. Derghan stared at her wide-eyed, asked something that Jerl couldn''t hear, received a reply, and finally, reluctantly nodded. Then, completely to Jerl''s surprise, she kissed him.


    Ridiculous though it was to give them any privacy at this moment, Jerl turned away and listened instead for sounds of pursuit, or the hum of the Cavalier Queen''s engines.


    He heard both.


    ¡°I, ah...hate to interrupt...¡± he called in a warning tone.


    ¡°They''re coming. I know.¡± Sinikka said. She hauled herself to her feet. ¡°Chal fa, mellwanen. Live well.¡±


    ¡°What? No! Sin, come on, the ship''s nearly here¡ª¡±


    ¡°And I''m dying. I''m sorry Jerl, I wish I could come with you. But that lightning already killed me, I can feel it.¡±


    ¡°You''re going to stay and fight them?¡± Jerl asked.


    ¡°Go.¡±


    ¡°But¡ª!¡±


    ¡°Go! I''d rather die in battle than suffer on the ship. Besides. Chal-an-chal. A life for a life.¡±


    Jerl didn¡¯t know what that meant, but there wasn¡¯t time to ask. The drone of the airship was close, but the howls of pursuit were closer. Behind them, Derghan fired his second flare.


    ¡°I want to meet the next you,¡± Jerl told her.


    ¡°Twenty years. At the Winter Bazaar.¡±


    ¡°Do my best.¡±


    ¡°Right.¡± She hefted her howling-blade. ¡°Love you too, little brother. Farewell.¡±


    The pursuit was right behind the next bush, and rather than wait for it to burst upon them, Sinikka charged in a war-magic blur. The first hag elf to emerge from the undergrowth was dead before they even had time to register the shrieking white thunderbolt that cut them in half.


    ¡°Skipper! The ship!¡± Derghan pointed. The Queen was only feet above the treetops, and he could see men on deck pointing down at them. The long rope ladder was thrown over the edge and hung between the branches. Derghan grabbed it and began to climb, Jerl caught the bottom and hooked his arm around it, signaling with his free hand to be pulled up.


    Men began to heave on the ropes and, both its engines roaring, the ship began to ascend. Jerl looked down, and fumbled for a pistol ¨C there was a hag elf aiming a bow at him. They fired before he could get to his weapon, and he twisted desperately on the ladder: the arrow glanced off his armor with enough power to nearly jar his grip loose.


    The elf notched a second arrow, aimed at him, drew, Sinikka crashed into them from the side, sending the arrow off-course. Then Jerl''s view was obscured as he was dragged through the canopy and they were away. It took only moments for the ladder to be hauled up to the level of the deck and for the crew to help him aboard.


    He sat on the deck with an exhausted thump, and then a thought occurred to him and he patted his pockets desperately. Relief escaped him in a rush of air when he found the box still safely on his person. It hadn''t all been for nothing.


    ¡°We made it,¡± he gasped. ¡°Holy fuck, we made it¡­¡±


    Beside him, Derghan sat up with tears soaking his beard, then stood and stumped off toward the engine room.


    ¡°No we bloody well didn''t,¡± he grunted, and vanished.


    Jerl¡¯s breath caught, and the grief caught up with him. Amir, Sin, so many of his men¡­


    He heaved his leaden limbs into motion, hauled himself up against the railing, and looked down over the Cronewood as the ship climbed and turned. His last sight of it was a patch of ugly dark leaves amidst the forest, then the clouds embraced him, and they were away.


    ¡°...See you in the next life, Sin.¡±


    The tears finally came.

 Chapter 3: The Thundering Hall

    <h2>Interlude: Beacon Outpost</h2>


    The world-sphere of Talvi 21.11.08.05.04


    They lit every corner of the statue room before finally entering it in force to examine the find.


    ¡°There''s something¡­off about these,¡± Nils said, examining the statues.


    ¡°Look human enough to me.¡± Jac Deragian opined. ¡°Round ears, no pointy chins...human.¡±


    ¡°Yes, but...I...can''t you see it?¡±


    Deragian and Vanda looked at the statues, at each other, back at the statues again, and then back to Nils.


    ¡°I see nothing strange about them,¡± Vanda said. ¡°Well, other than that they''re buried twenty fathoms below ground in what appears to be a natural cavern on Talvi.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re very¡­lifelike...¡± Deragian acknowledged.


    That was the problem Nils was having. The statues were exquisite, to the point of being almost too good. If they weren''t perfectly still and unyielding, he might even have taken them for people. Their eyes had an organic, authentic quality that no sculptor should have been able to capture. The conviction that the inanimate figure would blink and look at him any second now was almost revolting, and if it had actually done so, he might well have fled screaming back to the whispering Shades outside. They at least were a terror he vaguely understood.


    ¡°Fascinating...¡± Vanda said. He had picked up the box. And was turning it back and forth with a rapt expression.


    Nils spared him a glance. ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°The box is magical. Powerfully so.¡±


    ¡°Enchanted?¡±


    ¡°Impossibly...yes.¡±


    ¡°What''s so impossible about an enchanted box?¡± Nils demanded.


    ¡°You don''t know magic at all? The Laws?¡± asked Vanda.


    ¡°Remind me.¡±


    ¡°Well, magical enchantments wear off over time, and they wear off faster if the object in question is intricate or highly worked. A light spell cast upon a pebble from the river might last for a year or so.¡±


    ¡°Yes, yes,¡± Nils waved a hand. ¡°And?¡±


    ¡°And yet this is a crafted wooden box with knotwork and brass decorations, and still it feels strong,¡± Vanda explained. ¡°For it to feel this strong, an absolute master enchanter would have had to charge it within the last hour or so. Yet it has been more than an hour since the miners first found this place, and I am the only mage among us. Furthermore, the walls of this chamber are natural rock, with no sign that any living thing has been here before us.¡± He looked up. ¡°As I said. It¡¯s all quite impossible.¡±


    ¡°Impossible means...valuable?¡± Nils asked. Vanda considered the question.


    ¡°Yes. Academically, beyond valuable. But I assume you mean fiscally?¡± When Nils nodded eagerly, he issued a faint smile. ¡°The Observatory will pay us a bounty for it.¡±


    ¡°How big a bounty?¡±


    Vanda named a figure that would comfortably cover the costs of the entire expedition with change left over to buy a sixth ship.


    After a moment of stunned silence, Nils found his voice again. ¡°That seems...expansive.¡±


    ¡°The Laws date back to the Elvish Empire, and are very well tested,¡± Vanda said. ¡°The only known exception to them is the will of the Crowns themselves¡­¡±


    ¡°...Oh.¡± Nils gave the box a look of newfound respect.


    Vanda nodded, widening his eyes and raising his eyebrows. Then his hand glowed with the energies of a casting.


    ¡°Come on, my beauty...show me your secggrraaaaaAAAAAGH!!!!¡±


    The navigator''s voice became a plaintive wail as his fingers suddenly closed convulsively around the box. He fell on his back and began to writhe, shrieking at a desperate pitch that froze Nils and Deragian to the floor. Neither of them had imagined that a mortal throat could produce such agony.


    Blue streamers of energy poured from Vanda''s nose, mouth and ears. His eyes slammed open in stark horror and contributed their own energy to the stream, which flowed down his arm and into the tiny artifact he was clutching. Before Nils or Deragian could muster the wit to do anything, his flesh shrunk against his bones, as if he had starved to death in only a handful of seconds. His shriek choked and died and he collapsed.


    His hand disintegrated in a shower of gritty grey particles, but the box hung in the air, its surface now lit by bright green runes which pulsed with the rhythm of a heartbeat. Only when Vanda had been reduced to a disintegrating skeleton in pristine clothing did it finally drop to the floor, and the runes went dark. It bounced, rolled, and fetched up against Nils'' boot. Stunned and unthinking, he stooped and picked it up, deaf to Deragian''s desperate cry of ¡°Don''t!¡±


    As he did so, the runes lit again and he froze, but nothing worse happened.


    ¡°It...must have been the spell.¡± he said, breaking the silence. ¡°O-or, or a protection of some kind. Make a note of that, Jac. Don''t...don''t cast anything on this.¡±


    Deragian gave his employer a shocked look, then turned his attention back to their navigator¡¯s desiccated remains.


    ¡°I''ll...Winter''s tits, Mister Civorage, I think I can remember that one.¡±


    <hr>


    <blockquote>


    ¡°The third law of magic is this: the relationship between the strength and duration of enchantment an object can retain, and how much that object has been shaped by mortal intention, is inverse. This is known as the Law of Refinement.¡± ¡ªThe Initiate¡¯s Guide to Magecraft


    </blockquote>


    <h2>The Airship Cavalier Queen</h2>


    Above the world-sphere of Haust 11.06.03.06.03


    Jerl found himself with very little time to dwell on their loss, nor to rest. With no navigator or helmsman, it fell to him to plot the ship''s course and fly it himself. They made excellent time, however. Despite being torn off and half-buried, the port engine seemed to be working well, though with half the usual number of blades per engine and with its makeshift keel the ship''s handling felt different, more sluggish.


    ¡°You''ve picked up some wounds too, haven''t you darling?¡± he asked the ship, running a hand over the controls and fancying he could feel the Queen shiver at his touch, like a cat rubbing against the hand that stroked it.


    Fully a third of the crew were dead, between reclaiming her from the impound in Long Drop and the battle with the nornfey. Normally, the Queen''s deck bustled with men checking the rigging, cooking their rations, splicing ropes, sewing damaged patches of gas bag, or just sitting, eating, talking and drinking. Usually there would have been dice games, jokes and songs. Today, nobody had the morale for anything more than doing their job and reflecting quietly on their own survival, and on those who weren''t so lucky.


    Jerl flew numbly, thoughtlessly. He¡¯d lost two of his closest friends in the span of hours, and only the task of getting to the Thundering Hall and finally, maybe getting some help was keeping him upright.


    Eventually though, his aching feet and leaden arms made themselves impossible to ignore. He grabbed one of the riggers at random, gave the startled man a basic lesson in helmsmanship, showed him how to follow the course he¡¯d set, made it absolutely clear that he was to be roused immediately if anything unusual happened, and staggered into his cabin.


    There was still a blood stain by the door and up half the wall, and the door to Amir''s room was rocking back and forth on its one remaining hinge: the elves had smashed the lock to get in. He felt a stab of deep grief as he saw the stacks of literature that filled the cabin around Amir''s small bed.


    He was still standing and staring in when there was a knock from the open door behind him. Derghan raised a bottle of something and gave him a ¡®may I?¡¯ expression.


    Jerl waved him in.


    Neither man said a word as they went through into Jerl''s cabin and shut the door so as to have a barrier between themselves and that bloodstain. Jerl opened the padded travel case and picked out two of the crystal tumblers from his father''s set that he saved for special occasions, embossed with the ship''s name and figurehead¡ªa bare-chested wench with a feathered cap, a pistol and a sabre.


    No toast was spoken, they just poured the drink, touched glasses, and knocked back a finger''s worth of Derghan''s home-brewed whisky.


    ¡°...All this over a bloody box.¡± Derghan grumbled, eventually.


    ¡°Why didn''t they just buy it off ol¡¯ Gebby?¡± Jerl agreed. ¡°He''d have sold it for half a brass.¡±


    ¡°Bastards.¡±


    They drank to that. Several times.


    ¡°I wanted to apologize.¡± Derghan told him, after about the fifth glass, when Jerl''s head was full of the fuzzy warmth of good alcohol.


    ¡°To me? What for?¡±


    ¡°Fer tellin'' yer not to shoot that whoreson Civorage when we had the chance.¡±


    ¡°Nah. Derghan, mate. You were right about that. They''d have caught us.¡±


    ¡°Except they fuckin'' well went an'' caught us anyway.¡±


    ¡°No way to see that comin¡¯. No way to see any of this comin'',¡± Jerl objected. ¡°We just got fucked in the arse by fate and that''s it.¡±


    He sighed, swallowed the latest drink, and lay back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling where a square of fabric from the ship''s old sails still hung. ¡°All I ever wanted was the quiet life. You know? Just me, and my friends, and my ship, sailing the Worlds, making money, drinking good booze an'' leaving a lot of good stories behind us.¡±


    ¡°An'' satisfied wenches,¡± Derghan chuckled. ¡°Don''t forget the wenches.¡±


    ¡°Speak for yourself,¡± Jerl replied.


    ¡°You should try it sometime. Better a paid squeeze than no love at all¡­¡± he trailed off, made a bitter noise, and knocked back a hefty slug of strong liquor. ¡°Fuck it all. Sin¡­¡±


    ¡°You really loved her, huh?¡±


    Derghan stared miserably into his empty glass and poured himself a new one. ¡°...You ever really look into her eyes?¡± he asked.


    Jerl shrugged. ¡°I mean¡­not really?¡±


    ¡°Ithfey eyes. Fuckin¡¯ mesmerising. I swear they changed, minute by minute. A little more pink, a little more green, or a little more blue¡­fuck.¡± He heaved a huge, shaky breath. ¡°I wanted to hear her stories. I wanted to know who she was in her past lives. But she never¡­opened up, you know? She never let anyone in. Even though she wanted to. I could feel it. But she never did.¡±


    ¡°And the one time she did, I went and interrupted it,¡± Jerl apologized


    ¡°Not your fault.¡± Derghan swirled his whisky. ¡°Mind you, Amir was no open book either.¡±


    ¡°Nor are you,¡± Jerl pointed out. ¡°You¡¯ve been with me since we first put engines on the Queen, and I don¡¯t know shit about Clan Vargur or where you¡¯re from or anything.¡±


    Derghan was silent for a long moment. ¡°Well¡­we get through all this, I¡¯ll put that right,¡± he said eventually.


    ¡°Only if you want to, mate.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, I want to. Sin was right about leaving unfinished business and, well. If I¡¯ll follow you into shit like that back there, you deserve to know who I am, eh?¡±


    ¡°Thanks. But for now, let¡¯s drink.¡± Jerl raised his glass, which Derghan refilled. ¡°To the moment. And to those who can''t be here to enjoy it with us.¡±


    ¡°And to those who still are. May they live to see another one,¡± Derghan responded solemnly.


    ¡°Too bloody right.¡± They drank. Jerl refilled them this time.


    ¡°To Amir. Wish you were here, mate.¡± Derghan said.


    ¡°Amir at-Bezwi! The cleverest man I¡¯ve ever known.¡±


    ¡°An'' to Sinikka. I hope ye grow up somewhere peaceful, lass.¡±


    ¡°Aye. To Sinikka Nerissith. May we live to see her again.¡±


    Derghan''s sad smile faded at that. ¡°Twenty years...¡± he said. ¡°I''ll be near sixty.¡±


    ¡°And she''ll be knockin¡¯ on for twelve thousand,¡± Jerl pointed out.


    Derghan shook his head. ¡°Not the point. Even if she was the same person after reincarnating, an¡¯ she won¡¯t be, that''s twenty years I wouldn''t get to spend with her,¡± he said. ¡°An'' we get precious few, don''t we?¡±


    ¡°That''s not what counts, though. What counts is how much life you get out of them. I bet you and I can squeeze more life into sixty years than most elves squeeze into an age.¡±


    ¡°You really believe that?¡±


    Jerl nodded firmly ¡°Ever since Dad was taken. You''ve got to enjoy what you have while you have it because tomorrow it could be gone.¡± He frowned when Derghan stared pensively into his drink. ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°You think it''s that simple?¡± Derghan asked. ¡°Just live for now?¡±


    ¡°It''s worked for me so far.¡±


    ¡°Then why are we takin'' the box to Yngmir? Why not just¡­pitch the bloody thing overboard right now, chuck it out of the worlds? Surest way to make sure Civorage and his lot never get their hands on it.¡±


    Jerl paused. ¡°Well, cause...well Amir pleaded me to. And he always gave good advice. And I promised to, I guess. And I keep my promises to my friends.¡±


    ¡°Even to dead friends?¡±


    ¡°Especially to dead friends.¡±


    ¡°That''s not exactly livin'' in the moment is it?¡± Derghan observed.


    ¡°...I suppose not.¡±


    ¡°So, I know ye think o'' the past.¡± Derghan said. ¡°How often do ye think o'' the future?¡±


    Jerl shrugged ¡°Not a whole lot I can do about the future, is there? It comes when it comes and I''ll deal with it then. Aside from things like putting some money aside for emergencies, what can you do?¡±


    ¡°So ¡®yer not completely impulsive then.¡±


    Jerl frowned. ¡°Are we gonna run aground on a point any time soon?¡±


    There was a pause, as Derghan swirled his whiskey. ¡°My old man thought a lot like you.¡± he said after some time. ¡°He used to tell me ''Boy, tomorrow any ol'' thing could happen, so just you worry about makin'' it through today.'' Used to call the other clan elders all kinds o'' things when a moot was called. He thought they were bein'' a bunch of ol'' wives gatherin'' to talk about every damn thing under the sun rather than jus'' getting on with life.¡±


    He poured the last dribbles of whisky out into their glasses. ¡°Turns out there''s such a thing as a fight ye can''t win no matter how hard you fight, Jerl. An'' you only get into them by not payin'' attention to tomorrow. If ye spend yer whole time takin'' in the view, might be you won''t see the men with guns who''re after your coin. It turns out that if you just shrug your shoulders an'' say ''any ol'' thing could happen tomorrow'' then any ol'' thing does happen tomorrow cause yer stupid arse went an'' blundered into it.¡±


    He raised the last glass. ¡°So, let''s drink to livin'' in the moment but for tomorrow, aye?¡±


    Jerl needed a long moment to absorb this, a moment made longer by the alcohol fog in his brain.


    ¡°I...yeah,¡± he agreed eventually. ¡°Let''s drink to that.¡±


    <hr>


    He woke up with a hangover, of course, but not the worst he¡¯d ever had. A splash and drink of cold water chased the worst of it away, and though the sight of the blood stain still in the main room of the cabin lowered his spirits again, when he opened the door and caught a blast of cold air in the face it blew the last of the drink''s influence out of his brain.


    Clearly, a third crewman had been given some basic instructions about keeping the ship steady and left to it. He seemed more than grateful to pass the wheel back over to the skipper, who grabbed the sextant and set about figuring how far off course they were. He was quietly surprised and gratified to find that they had strayed by only about a hundred miles.


    Spying Marren slouched atop a pile of furs sewing together the damaged strip of envelope, he called out.


    ¡°Mister Marren!¡±


    ¡°Aye, skipper?¡±


    ¡°How''re you holding up?¡±


    Marren shrugged and indicated the bandage around his upper arm. Jerl could sympathize. ¡°We''ve lost some good lads. Got some mates I won''t get to share a drink with when we make port.¡±


    Jerl nodded. ¡°I know. Pass the word, everyone''s on double pay for this month, this isn''t what you signed up for.¡±


    ¡°¡¯Preciate it, boss...¡± Marren pushed his needle listlessly through the canvas, then set it aside. ¡°Wanna know what I think? Unvarnished?¡±


    ¡°Always.¡±


    ¡°You''re doin'' a good job. Don''t let the back o'' your head tell you any different. Me an'' the twins''d¡¯ve been dead if you hadn''t come for us. The lads all feel the same, even if we miss our mates. We¡¯re with you all the way.¡±


    Jerl paused, awkwardly, then cleared his throat and nodded. ¡°Thank you, Andony.¡±


    ¡°Right. Double pay then?¡± Marren managed a weak laugh. ¡°I''ll pass the word.¡±


    ¡°Carry on, Mister Marren.¡±


    ¡°Aye aye.¡±


    Marren tugged his forelock and began to tour the deck. Jerl allowed himself a moment of contemplation and then, with a small, sad smile he grabbed the control to angle the ship''s nose down towards Haust.


    <hr>


    The Thundering Hall was built by the Herald Yngmir himself, and easily one of the grandest structures in the Worlds. Equal parts fort and library, it was big enough for an airship to fly under its steep gabled roof, and thus dominated the top of the flat slab of rock upon which it was built.


    Around it, as far as the eye could see, was glacial outwash haunted by lonely boulders and shallow meltwater channels. From the air, the landscape was brown and desolate, but haunting rather than ugly. Yngmir had specifically chosen the site for its isolation, days away from any storm-clan''s territory.


    The advent of airships had rather reduced this solitude, but it was still far removed from the cares of the world, and a haven for people whose sole interest was in expanding their own knowledge and that of men and Fey across the Worlds through book study, philosophical conversation and scientific research. Indeed, the Hall was where the principles of scientific methodology had first been proposed and where the ethanol combustion engine had been invented.


    To Jerl''s eyes, it didn''t look much like a center for learning and intellect so much as the feast hall of some ancient chieftain. Inside the thick stone beacon-capped walls, the path from the front gate passed between no less than three pairs of bearded statues, each progressively more imposing than the last, which guarded the great doors. Housing, bookbinder''s workshops and all the other industry necessary to keep the Hall''s occupants supplied had sprung up as almost an afterthought outside of the walls.


    The result was that the Hall itself, despite its incredible size, was now rather smaller than the town around it. Indeed, if anything it was an inferior feat of engineering than the dam and levies that kept the population in drinking water while channeling away the storm floods. There was even, in concession to the changing times, a landing mast and ground grew for airships, and a fuel distillery.


    There were no airships currently present, however, and the Cavalier Queen was flagged down to the mast as soon as Jerl signaled their desire to land. Ropes were thrown, threaded through sturdy steel rings anchored in the rock of the valley floor, and the Queen was hauled safely down.


    Rather than deflate the bag entirely, Jerl ordered for it to be reduced to the point of neutral buoyancy, and went ashore with Marren and Derghan.


    A tribesman who might have been Derghan''s cousin met them at the bottom of the gangplank. ¡°Heimar''s clan,¡± Derghan said quietly, referring to the tattoos. Jerl nodded.


    ¡°Well met, Heimar''s son!¡± he exclaimed jovially, stepping off the ramp and clasping the man''s forearm. ¡°Jerl Holten, of the Cavalier Queen. This is my rigging chief, Andony Marren, and my engineer, Derghan of-¡±


    ¡°Vargur''s clan,¡± the Heimar interrupted. ¡°Thought your mob were all dead?¡±


    ¡°Aye, and that makes me the Vargur chief,¡± Derghan replied, clearly nettled at the short attitude.


    The other clansman frowned at him, then gave the slightest of bows before returning his attention to Jerl ¡°Ronar Heimarsson,¡± he introduced himself. ¡°What''s your business at the Hall, captain?¡±


    ¡°I need an audience with the Herald,¡± Jerl told him.


    ¡°Need, is it?¡± Ronar issued an amused blast of air through his nose ¡°Most people seek or request.¡±


    ¡°I need,¡± Jerl said, firmly. ¡°And I think he''ll agree once he sees what we''ve brought to him.¡±


    ¡°He doesn''t have much or patience for visitors who waste his time,¡± Ronar warned.


    Jerl pulled the box from his pocket, and was struck by how painfully bright the runes above its surface were, even in the light of day. Ronar''s lips parted slightly as he stared at it in bewilderment.


    ¡°I very much doubt that we''ll be a waste of his time,¡± Jerl said. ¡°Is my request granted?¡±


    ¡°A¡ª¡­yes. As much as I''m able to,¡± Ronar agreed, looking a little stunned. He delved into a pouch on his belt and handed Jerl a square bone token stamped with a rune. ¡°Show that to the guards at the great doors.¡±


    ¡°My thanks.¡±


    ¡°Will you be needing any fuel or to offload any cargo, captain?¡± Ronar asked.


    Jerl glanced at Derghan, who nodded. ¡°We''re down to our last ten barrels.¡± he said.


    ¡°Then that''s a ¡°yes¡± to both questions, Ronar Heimarsson.¡± Jerl said. ¡°We have a cargo of furs, alcohol, fabrics and pottery from the Winter Bazaar.¡±


    ¡°Aye, you''ll find buyers for those.¡± Ronar told him. ¡°We, ah...can also offer some repairs. Seeing as it seems like you¡¯ve been through a rough spot, and all¡­¡±


    ¡°Thank you, yes. Repairs and resupply. Andony, you have my ship until I return. Just get repair quotes for now, but bring some decent victuals in for the lads. Under no circumstance is the bag to be deflated.¡±


    ¡°Right you are, skipper.¡± Marren nodded sharply and jogged back up the ramp, shouting orders to begin emptying the hold.


    Ronar stepped aside and gestured with a hand ¡°Then if you''ll follow me, captain, I''ll escort you to the gates.¡±


    <hr>


    People got out of their way as they went, and stared. Clearly an airship was still a rare and special sight at the Thundering Hall.


    The town was busy despite its small size and isolation, and seemed to have a higher than average fey population, all gray-skinned, white-eyed storm elves. Unusually, in fact, human and elf children were playing together in the streets, and they passed a small group of boys who were daring a tall, red-haired human lad to collect from a steaming pile of fresh horse manure and throw it at a nearby Oneist preacher.


    Judging from the expressions with which most of the crowd were regarding the proselytizer, this pending act of mischief would probably prove popular. Clearly, he was deeply disliked.


    ¡°Church of the One don¡¯t have many friends around here, it seems,¡± Jerl commented.


    ¡°You a Oneist?¡± Ronar asked.


    ¡°Not me.¡±


    ¡°Good. Bastards tried to break into the library and burn it a couple days ago.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re joking!¡±


    ¡°I wish. Whole mob of ¡®em, rushed the gates and the front door with firebombs in hand. We lost three guards.¡±


    ¡°That bein¡¯ the case, how come that prick¡¯s still free to shout at everyone?¡± Derghan asked, turning to look back at the preacher.


    ¡°Herald¡¯s orders,¡± Ronar said. ¡°Yngmir says that dissenting voices must be heard no matter what.¡±


    Derghan frowned. ¡°Even after that? They killed people and tried to burn his library!¡±


    ¡°Even after that,¡± Ronar agreed.


    ¡°I would¡¯ve thought he¡¯d come down on them like a fucking landslide!¡±


    Ronar chuckled. ¡°Only somebody who¡¯s never met Yngmir would assume that.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s a pacifist?¡± Jerl asked.


    ¡°Not exactly. Let¡¯s say¡­he has a higher-altitude perspective on things.¡± Ronar smiled grimly as there was shouting and a small cheer from behind them. Clearly the horse manure prank had gone ahead successfully. ¡°He likes being challenged.¡±


    ¡°Arson and murder is a bit more than a challenge!¡± Derghan pointed out.


    Ronar just shrugged. ¡°You¡¯ll understand once you¡¯ve met him.¡±


    ¡°Any advice?¡± Jerl asked.


    ¡°Mhm. Surest way to make him like you is to truthfully speak your mind rather¡¯n kiss his feet. And the surest ways to make him dislike you are to have a closed mind, or lie to him.¡±


    Jerl grunted and nodded, taking that in. ¡°Thanks.¡±


    ¡°Knowledge is free in the Thundering Hall.¡± The way Ronar said it sounded like a mantra.


    They were nearing the Hall¡¯s gates now, and Ronar stopped at the bottom of the long stone steps that led up toward them. ¡°Just one thing, gentlemen. I know trouble when I see it. Even without our own recent problems, your ship¡¯s battered and your crew¡¯s grieving and short-handed. And that box, whatever it is, radiates power like nothing I¡¯ve ever sensed. And you bring it claiming you need to speak to a Herald. Just how much trouble are you in?¡±


    ¡°Lots. And it¡¯s very likely not far behind us,¡± Jerl told him, levelly. ¡°Some damn powerful people want this thing, including the Oneists. We¡¯ve got nowhere else to turn except the Herald, now.¡±


    Ronar looked him in the eye for a long second then stepped aside.


    ¡°...Thank you for your honesty. Go on up.¡±


    The gate guards gave them no trouble¡ªit seemed that Ronar''s company was enough for them, and they waved Jerl and Derghan through. The noise of the town dropped away the moment they were inside the Hall''s outer wall, leaving them in a quiet oasis where they got their first chance to truly appreciate the scale of the building and the statues that guarded it. The men and women in rugged wool clothing wandering the grounds were utterly dwarfed by it all.


    ¡°You know...if a human had built this, you''d have to assume they were -¡± Derghan began, quietly.


    ¡°-Compensating,¡± Jerl chorused with him, nodding. ¡°Yes.¡±


    They began the walk to the front door. From the air the distance from gate to door had not seemed large, but on the ground the illusion was dispelled. It was just small in comparison to the Hall itself. It was a grand sight, one that Jerl had always wanted to see in person, but now he was acutely aware of the weight of the box in his pocket, and of just how much they had sacrificed to bring it here.


    ¡°He''d damn well better have something useful to say.¡± he muttered.


    The guards at the front door were three clansmen and a storm elf, who was apparently the leader. ¡°Business?¡±


    ¡°We need to speak to the Herald.¡± Jerl told him, showing the chip Ronar had given them.


    ¡°On what business?¡± the elf repeated, barely glancing at it. Jerl reached into his pocket and then became aware of a series of subtle but menacing noises as the human guards put their hands to their weapons.


    Jerl was beyond giving a shit. ¡°Point those bloody things somewhere else,¡± he said, and withdrew the box from his pocket.


    The sheer audacity of this seemed to have the intended impact: the guards glanced at one another in confusion and dismay, but settled down. The elf hadn''t moved, but was regarding the box with fascination. Jerl decided to drive the nail home.


    ¡°I''ve flown here from two worlds up to deliver this. Two of my best friends and a third of my crew are dead because of it. Between the Oneists, the Clear Skies and the nornfey it seems like every vicious whoreson in the Worlds is after this thing, a fact which may be explained by the fact that our late friend suspected it was made by the Crowns themselves.¡±


    He drew himself up to his full height and projected an aura of impatience as he looked the lead guard dead in the eye. ¡°So. I need to see the Herald. Please.¡±


    <hr>


    The legends about the library of the Thundering Hall simply did it no justice at all. Most of the Hall¡¯s cavernous interior had been given over to floor after floor of book and scroll cases, all fully laden. The only clear space was down the middle, where a wide avenue cut a swathe through the otherwise dense stacks. It seemed odd for that much space to go unused, when the rest was if anything overcrowded, but Jerl had heard the legends about how big Yngmir was. Presumably he needed that avenue to get out of the building every so often.


    They were led straight down the central aisle by a balding, aging human who had been hastily summoned to greet them, had stared in astonishment at the box, and promptly agreed that they absolutely must see Yngmir at once.


    ¡°And you say you acquired this thing at the Winter Bazaar?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Yes, though the runes only appeared night before last,¡± Jerl said. Derghan had gone entirely silent as he craned his neck to try and take in the whole immense building.


    ¡°Could you venture a guess as to what caused them to light?¡± the scribe asked. He had introduced himself, after being prompted, as Sevjin Jerelsson. Clearly, he had none of the hangups most Haustian clansmen did about wearing his intelligence openly to be seen.


    ¡°The hag elves performed some kind of sacrificial ritual,¡± Jerl told him. ¡°We interrupted it, so I don''t know exactly what they were intending. A blast of lightning struck my friend as she was holding the box, and it lit up like this.¡±


    ¡°I...assume your friend is not with you?¡± Sevjin inquired, delicately.


    ¡°She''s an elf. But you''re right, we''re going to miss her for a few years.¡±


    ¡°My condolences, captain. For all your losses.¡±


    Jerl nodded his thanks. ¡°It was my friend Amir at-Bezwi who convinced us the box should come here.¡±


    ¡°Amir?¡± Sevjin turned, anxiously.


    ¡°You knew him?¡±


    ¡°Knew? Oh! Oh¡­¡± Shock and sorrow flashed across Sevjin¡¯s face as he read Amir¡¯s fate in Jerl¡¯s own expression. ¡°Yes, I...I knew him quite well. I...won''t be alone around the Hall in mourning him, if he has passed.¡±


    ¡°He stayed here?¡± Derghan asked.


    Sevjin removed his spectacles and wiped the corner of his eye. ¡°He joined us at just ten years old,¡± he said, simply. ¡°I had the pleasure of mentoring him, before he departed for the Observatory. It...yes, it absolutely makes sense that he would have wanted to bring this here. I am glad you are honoring his wish.¡±


    Not for the first time, Jerl cursed Amir''s reticence to talk about his own past. ¡°It made sense,¡± he said.


    ¡°Besides,¡± Derghan added, sadly. ¡°Ol'' Amir never led us wrong. I''d have trusted him if he said we had to fly Outside to get rid of the fuckin'' thing.¡±


    Sevjin simply nodded, the bump of his larynx working up and down as he swallowed back his grief. They walked on in silence for a few minutes, climbing up a small flight of stairs to where a great tapestry-hung wooden wall separated off about a third of the Hall from the rest. Not a wall, Jerl realised¡ªdoors. Enormous double doors big enough to fly the Queen through, with a smaller set in the base, scaled for humans. Sevjin knocked, and waited.


    There was a pause, and then a voice unlike any Jerl had heard before.


    ¡°Come.¡±


    <hr>


    <h2>Interlude: Beacon Outpost</h2>


    The world-sphere of Talvi 05.12.08.05.04


    ¡°Permission to speak freely, cap''n?¡±


    ¡°Aye. What?¡±


    Jac Deragian set aside his tankard as his first and second mates sat down opposite him. It was the middle of the shift, and the halls were full of the sound of pickaxes and the trundle of carts taking precious ore to the surface. A good time for talking quietly without being overheard.


    ¡°It''s about Mister Civorage, sir,¡± the first mate said. His name was Harl Kutler, and Deragian had worked with him for years. The man was an excellent barometer for the general feeling of the whole crew. His eyes flicked up from Kutler''s face to check on Nils Civorage, who was still safely at his table over in the corner of the living cavern.


    ¡°Yeah. You don''t need to say it, Harl,¡± he murmured. Something about the rapt expression that came over Civorage''s face whenever he studied the mystery box was deeply troubling. He had seen men stare at their first-born children with less love. Every so often Civorage would tear his gaze away to scribble in a notebook.


    ¡°The lads are getting...on edge,¡± his second mate, Ergen, said. ¡°With what happened to Mister Vanda...¡±


    ¡°You weren''t there, Ergen,¡± Deragian said. ¡°You don''t know what happened to Vanda.¡±


    ¡°We all heard the scream, Cap''n,¡± Harl told him. ¡°No escaping it in these tunnels.¡±


    Deragian sighed. Morale was sinking like a ship with a torn bag, he could feel it. The problem was, he couldn''t think of a way to stop it.


    ¡°We''re past half way,¡± he said, by way of reassurance. ¡°We''re all getting paid enough for this job to say farewell and get on with our lives, aren''t we? We just have to tough out two weeks. We can do that. We''ve toughed out worse.¡±


    He knew he sounded less like he was reassuring them than himself. It seemed to work anyway.


    ¡°Yeah. Two weeks.¡± Ergen muttered. ¡°We''ve got the supplies, we can put up with weird for that long.¡±


    ¡°And besides, where we gonna go?¡± Harl added, bitterly. ¡°Nothin¡¯ but shades outside.¡±


    ¡°Good man,¡± Deragian told him, finally finding his confidence as a captain. ¡°You just make sure all the lads understand that, aye? Get their heads down and their minds on the job, and tell them to tally off the days on the wall if they have to, I don''t care. We can hold together until then.¡±


    ¡°Do us a favor, Cap''n?¡± Harl asked him.


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°See if you can talk Mister Civorage into starin'' at that thing somewhere else? If he did it out of sight somewhere, it''d do less harm.¡±


    Deragian thought on this. ¡°Yeah. I''ll see if I can do that,¡± he agreed, and both men relaxed slightly. That was a sign that getting their crumbling sponsor out of sight and out of mind would help their morale situation too. ¡°Hop to, gents. I''m relying on you.¡±


    ¡°Aye, skipper.¡± Harl said. They jumped up, looking considerably more motivated, and left him alone.


    Deragian finished his lunch of small beer and vegetable soup with crusty bread in thoughtful silence, thinking over how to phrase his request. Once done, he shook out a stiff click in his neck for courage, and shuffled over to his employer''s table.


    Nils was surrounded by paper, much of it covered in copies of the runes off the box''s surface. He was turning the item back and forth in his hand and in the dim half-light of the cavern the magic danced in eyes that had lost their shrewd edge in favor of rapt, childish wonder. He looked up when Deragian sat next to him and smiled.


    ¡°Beautiful. Worth the whole trip,¡± he said by way of a greeting. ¡°See?¡± he touched a finger to one of the runes, which swirled around his touch and then flowed along and around the box''s surface as he dragged it, the other runes shuffling to make room.


    ¡°It''s...making the lads nervous, Mister Civorage,¡± Deragian told him, gently. Nils didn''t seem to hear him at first, but just as Deragian was about to repeat himself he returned his attention to the conversation. ¡°Hmm? Oh, the men. Why?¡±


    ¡°Well...what happened to Mister Vanda, sir.¡±


    ¡°So long as nobody casts a spell on it, they''ll be perfectly fine.¡± Nils waved his free hand dismissively. ¡°Look at me! I''ve been studying the thing ever since we found it and I''m perfectly fine.¡±


    Deragian decided to hold his peace on that score. Nils had the puff-eyed look of somebody who wasn''t sleeping enough. His mustache clearly hadn''t been waxed in some time, nor had he apparently shaved in several days. There was a crazed, restless quality to him now.


    ¡°Be that as it may, sir, the lads are, uh, low on morale,¡± he said, deciding to go with the blunt option. Again, there was that slight delay before Civorage caught up with the conversation.


    ¡°Morale? Oh. No good reason for that, but I suppose in this cave the last thing we want is low morale.¡±


    ¡°No sir. Not with two whole weeks still to go.¡±


    ¡°Two weeks? I had lost track.¡±


    ¡°Yes, sir.¡± Deragian replied, neutrally. He cleared his throat as Nils turned his attention back to the box, and was struck by the irritated look this earned him. ¡°I was, uh, wondering if you might be amenable to some more privacy, sir?¡± he asked. ¡°Away from the noise, where the lads won''t disturb you.¡±


    ¡°Or be disturbed by me?¡± Nils asked, and for a second the sharpness was back in his eye, but again it faded as he turned back to studying the box. ¡°You''re right. I should have some privacy.¡±


    He fell silent again, still engrossed by the runes. After a while, Deragian risked a cough. Nils seemed to start like a man who had just felt the sensation of falling as they were dropping off to sleep.


    ¡°Shall I help you move your desk and papers, sir?¡± Deragian asked him. Nils blinked, as if unable to remember who was talking to him, then clarity returned again.


    ¡°Oh. Yes. Thank you.¡± He stood and slipped the box into his pocket and for the first time in days its unsettling, eye-twisting light was gone. The moment it shut off, his focus seemed to restore itself. ¡°Good thinking, Jac. I''d forgotten the need to keep the men happy.¡±


    ¡°Don''t mention it, Mister Civorage. Just doing what you pay me for.¡± Deragian picked up Civorage''s chair, ordered two of the miners on their lunch break to bring the table, and calmly agreed with Nils all the way up the passage until they reached the first limit of the whispering, where a side passage had been mined, following a seam that had turned out to go nowhere.


    The moment he was sat down, Nils produced the box again, and lost himself in it.


    It was warm in the mine, but Jac Deragian shivered as he returned to spread the good news. With that done, they might just get to see daylight again without anything going seriously wrong.


    <hr>


    <blockquote>


    ¡°The Crowns, who created and constrained magic, are necessarily exempt from the Laws. This is known as the Null Law. For example, the Crowns have granted a limited exemption to their Heralds, who are instead limited by different constraints and may thus perform feats of magic beyond any mortal working.¡± ¡ªThe Initiate¡¯s Guide to Magecraft


    </blockquote>


    <h2>The Thundering Hall</h2>


    The world-sphere of Haust 12.06.03.06.03


    The voice wasn''t loud, but it had a large quality to it that left no doubt that the throat from which it had issued was definitely not human. Sevjin opened the door and beckoned for Jerl and Derghan to precede him.


    Yngmir was actually something of a relief. He was still colossal, but not quite as big as the architecture had suggested. In fact from a distance he seemed almost normal sized, and only the sheer distance between his desk and the door betrayed how huge he really was. The desk was as big as the Cavalier Queen¡¯s hull, and Yngmir was writing in a ledger atop it with a pen carved from a young pine tree. He was bearded and long-haired, with swept-back pointed ears that gave him a streamlined, wind-blown look, and was wearing a purple-trimmed red tunic and black trousers with leather thigh boots that must have spelled genocide for a whole herd of cattle. If not for his size, he might have been mistaken for a wealthy elfish trader.


    Sevjin bowed, and Jerl and Derghan copied him¡ªa formal and respectful but not obsequious bow from the waist. The Herald regarded them with a slight frown.


    ¡°Who are these, Sevjin?¡± He asked.


    ¡°I''ll let them introduce themselves, Herald.¡± the old man said. He indicated stairs to their left where they could climb up to be level with the giant''s desk. As they climbed, Yngmir carefully wiped his pen and placed it to one side.


    ¡°Well met.¡± Yngmir greeted them once they were at the top.


    ¡°Well met, o Yngmir.¡± Jerl replied formally. ¡°I am Jerl Holten, Captain of the Airship Cavalier Queen, and this is Derghan of Vargur''s Clan.¡±


    ¡°A pleasure to meet you, captain. Please, what business brings you?¡±


    Jerl swallowed to wet his suddenly dry mouth, and produced the box. The Herald did something totally unexpected¡ªhe recoiled.


    ¡°Crowns!¡± he exclaimed. The box flew from Jerl''s grip and impossibly seemed to grow until it was proportionately just as large compared to Yngmir''s own hand as it had been to Jerl''s. It smacked into the giant''s palm with a thud that Jerl felt through his boots, and the herald studied it closely. ¡°Where did you get this?¡±


    Jerl coughed. ¡°One of my crew got it as a...souvenir, in the Winter Bazaar. He was killed for it, and we''ve had a hard fight bringing it to you.¡± Yngmir looked up from studying the box and looked him in the eye. Jerl found he couldn''t look away, and almost seemed to get lost. The Herald''s eyes seemed to have a depth to them that he could have fallen into.


    ¡°Who killed him?¡±


    ¡°The Clear Skies. Or the Oneists. It wasn''t really clear who the men who killed him worked for, but they are both involved.¡±


    ¡°Why did you bring this to me?¡±


    ¡°My navigator and friend, Amir at-Bezwi, convinced me that we should.¡±


    It seemed almost as if a pressure on the back of his head went away. He rocked back on his heels slightly, and glanced aside at Derghan, who likewise seemed to have just been released by the same gentle force.


    ¡°Amir...he is dead. I saw it on your face when you spoke his name.¡± Yngmir closed his great eyes for a second. ¡°I will mourn him.¡± he declared. Then he looked back at them and the sensation of pressure returned. ¡°What did he say to convince you?¡±


    Jerl recounted the conversation at the Cooper''s Coin, more clearly than he had thought he could remember it. Word for word, in fact. The words seemed to flow from him without any conscious involvement on his part, and he watched astonished as his body seemed to relive the conversation without him. Yngmir simply stared at them, soaking up every detail. Again, the sensation of pressure vanished when Yngmir looked away and studied the box.


    ¡°It has been tampered with,¡± he observed. Jerl decided to pre-empt whatever mesmerism the Herald was using this time.


    ¡°The Hag elves did that. They boarded our ship, killed Amir and stole the box. We recovered the box from some kind of ritual site they had set up, but lost Sinikka¡ªour ithfey companion¡ªduring our retreat.¡±


    ¡°Describe this ritual.¡±


    ¡°A fire pit with four statues, mockeries of the Crowns, around it, fighting over a ring. There was dancing and chanting and drumming. Four hag elves threw themselves into the fire just as Sinikka killed the shaman directing it all and picked up the box. Some kind of lightning shot from the statues and hit her. She told me later that it fatally wounded her, but that¡¯s when the box lit up,¡± Jerl summarized. ¡°The really weird bit is, there was no human mage orchestrating and channeling it all. The shaman was a nornfey.¡±


    ¡°In violation of the Law of Form?¡±


    ¡°Apparently.¡±


    Yngmir¡¯s brow furrowed deeply at that. ¡°What happened next?¡±


    Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.


    ¡°We retreated to my ship. Sin stayed behind to fight off the pursuit while we got away. We came directly here after that.¡±


    There was a long silence. Yngmir''s giant hand cupped his chin and he regarded the box with a troubled expression, head cocked on one side.


    ¡°Nils Civorage was there,¡± Derghan said. Yngmir looked sharply at them: that feeling of pressure returned for just a second, and then was gone.


    ¡°Troubling.¡± He laid the box down and it promptly returned to its normal side with a rush of displaced air. ¡°Most troubling.¡±


    He turned, and leaned on his elbows on the desk, looming over both Jerl and Derghan. ¡°Do you feel entitled to an explanation?¡± he asked.


    Jerl tried to meet the gaze of eyes that were each as large as his head. ¡°I have heard knowledge is free in the Thundering Hall, ¡° he said. ¡°Besides, a lot of people died to bring this to you. I think they are entitled to an explanation.¡±


    Yngmir blinked slowly, and then stood up. His chair turned out not to be an actual chair, but rather a whole living tree that had been carefully encouraged to grow in the form of a seat. ¡°Well said.¡±


    He stretched, then turned across the room toward a titanic drinks cabinet. ¡°Have you examined the runes on the box at all?¡± he asked as he produced a decanter of epic proportions for himself, and what, when he set it down on the desk, turned out to be a drinks cabinet on a human scale, not dissimilar to the one in Jerl''s quarters with its strapping to hold the drinks safe in violent weather. A reservoir¡¯s worth of what smelled to Jerl like whisky was poured into a glass that he could have tread water in. That decanter must have contained the annual output of an entire distillery.


    ¡°I have not.¡± Jerl confessed. He decided to take advantage of the hospitality and poured himself a drink, despite the faint hangover twinge that the Herald''s booming voice was doing nothing to soothe.


    ¡°That is just as well. Examining them drove Civorage quite insane.¡±


    ¡°I''ve never heard of him bein'' crazy before.¡± Derghan said.


    ¡°Some forms of insanity are easily missed,¡± Yngmir said, savoring the whisky''s nose as he spoke, before sipping it. ¡°Fervour, focus, ambition, zeal. I suspect he was at least a little bit¡­overly driven, even before he found the box. Who else but a madman would want to spend five weeks on Talvi during Eclipse, after all?¡±


    ¡°This isn''t the same box, though?¡± Jerl asked.


    ¡°No. And its appearance is troubling. All of these were meant to have been locked away when the Worlds were made.¡±


    ¡°Was Amir...right? About it being a Word of Creation?¡±


    Yngmir paused. ¡°...Yes.¡±


    ¡°So they are real. Sin was convinced they¡¯re not.¡±


    ¡°Your friend shares a belief common among elfkind. A lingering echo of the old empire. But indeed, the Words were spoken before fey and Heralds were woven into being, and thus we never heard them spoken. But they are real, and powerful beyond understanding. They are the power to alter a facet of reality itself.¡±


    Jerl reached for his pipe. ¡°Do you mind if I...?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Not at all.¡±


    They sat in silence for some time, as Yngmir stroked his beard and turned the box this way and that to study it. It was Derghan who broke the quiet.


    ¡°I have questions,¡± he announced.


    ¡°And I shall answer if I am able. You deserve that much.¡±


    ¡°Well...what do the runes on it mean?¡±


    ¡°Ah!¡± Yngmir looked pleased. ¡°A fascinating subject. They are the language of What Came Before.¡±


    Both the humans in the room looked at each other with a confused frown.


    ¡°What Came Before?¡± Jerl asked. ¡°Before what?¡±


    ¡°This.¡± Yngmir announced, spreading his arms and gesturing at the Worlds in general. ¡°The sun, the roil, the worlds, and everything upon them. Only the void is more ancient.¡±


    He leaned forward onto his elbows again. ¡°What Came Before was dying, you see. Doomed. Not by some curse or impending calamity, but just by the simple fact of how it worked. Like a clock winding down. So the Crowns built these Worlds as a refuge. A place where they could live, and perhaps one day even wind the clock again, as it were.¡±


    ¡°So who made What Came Before?¡±


    Yngmir¡¯s soft intellectual chuckle shook the room. ¡°That, as I understand it, was a matter of some debate. One which the Crowns continue to this day. Lady Haust believes that nobody made it, it merely was.¡±


    ¡°If there''s a creation, doesn¡¯t there have to be a creator?¡± Derghan asked.


    ¡°You echo our lord, King E?rrach. But who or what created the creator?¡± Yngmir countered ¡°Either you have an infinite chain of creator and created stretching back to infinity, or else you have to conclude that something, somewhere was the First. Heralds and elves know for a fact this creation is not the First, as we were present at its birth. The Crowns claim they too were not the First, and I believe them. It is my lady Crown¡¯s opinion that What Came Before was first, and I find her rationale compelling.¡±


    ¡°Okay¡­¡± Derghan scratched at the shaved side of his head. ¡°But how do you know the Oneists aren''t right and the Crowns aren¡¯t lying about that?¡±


    Yngmir smiled benevolently at this. ¡°You impress me, Derghan son of Vargur.¡±


    Derghan seemed nonplussed. ¡°I do?¡±


    ¡°I tend to awe people,¡± Yngmir told him. ¡°It is a rare man who will continue to ask probing, potentially offensive questions and challenge my opinion once given.¡±


    He stroked his chin some more and chuckled, a sound like giant rocks knocking together deep in a cave. ¡°But in answer to your question¡­I have spoken to the Crowns. I am as certain of their existence as I am of yours. And for them to exist, there must have been a world for them to exist in, so I may infer that they speak truthfully of What Came Before. The One may exist, but it has not yet revealed itself to me, and I have not yet found the words of the preachers sufficiently compelling. So, for the moment, I reserve judgment.¡±


    ¡°And let the Oneists preach, even if they attack your library with firebombs.¡±


    Yngmir sat back and crossed one leg comfortably over the other. ¡°Which is more damaging on the grand scale? The work of a few hooligans, or the suppression of thought itself?¡±


    Jerl cleared his throat, eager to get the conversation back on track. ¡°So, those runes do have a meaning then?¡±


    ¡°As much meaning as any letter. The runes appear when the box has been charged with magical energy, and they spell out a warning, a reminder to Crowns and Heralds that these boxes are layered with protections. To those who know how to read it, they reveal the dangers, and the secret of opening.¡±


    ¡°Why? And why keep it in the worlds at all where somebody could accidentally dig it up? Why not leave ¡®em out in the void where nobody would ever find them?¡±


    ¡°I do not know. The Crowns do not divulge their full plans and reasoning, even to me. Perhaps they foresaw a future need for the Words, or the possibility that new Crowns may arise to replace them in time, and they will have need. Perhaps they simply made an error.¡±


    ¡°So what is the secret?¡± Jerl asked.


    ¡°To open the box, you must know what it contains.¡±


    ¡°That''s all?¡±


    ¡°You must know what it contains,¡± Yngmir stressed. ¡°Not suspect, or guess. It will not open unless held by one who knows for a fact exactly what is inside.¡±


    He rattled the box at them. ¡°We know this contains a Word of Creation. But we do not know which one. We do not even know how many Words there are, so deductive reasoning is useless. Thus, the box remains closed, and quite impenetrable by any physical means. And as for magic, it will destroy anyone who attempts to tamper with its enchantment.¡±


    Jerl¡¯s frown deepened. ¡°So¡­how did Civorage open his?¡±


    ¡°I do not know. That is the most troubling thing. It ought to have been impossible.¡±


    ¡°You can¡¯t even guess?¡±


    Yngmir shook his head. Whatever answer he had, he never gave it: instead, they were interrupted by frantic, heavy knocking on the door. ¡°Come?¡±


    An acolyte burst into the room, wild-eyed and breathing heavily.


    ¡°Herald! There''s a whole fleet of airships!¡± she exclaimed.


    Yngmir launched himself to his feet, frowned in calculation, and then tossed the box to Jerl. Catching it was tricky as it changed size in mid-air, but Jerl just about managed to juggle the thing to his chest.


    ¡°You should return to your ship.¡± the Herald declared.


    <hr>


    Jerl was getting tired of running. The desperate flight for their lives in the Cronewood had left his legs feeling stiff and sore anyway, so having to run at full tilt down the length of the Thundering Hall in Yngmir''s striding wake was unwelcome.


    Trying to keep up was futile. Yngmir did not dawdle, but strode down the length of the hall with purpose, easily outstripping Jerl and Derghan. The great doors at the far end opened for him at a gesture and the wind rolled in, sending acolytes scurrying to recover blown papers.


    Weather had swept down the valley during their conversation, shrouding the Hall in silvery cloud that pin-pricked Jerl''s face with tiny, icy raindrops as he emerged. Standing by Yngmir''s ankles, he looked up to see the Herald raise flat palm to brow and peer down the valley.


    Jerl did the same, and felt something cold and ugly crawl up his back at the sight of a wall of airships.


    ¡°Shit...¡± he breathed. There must have been thirty at least.


    ¡°I can hear them...¡± Derghan said. ¡°Listen.¡±


    Jerl did so. At first he heard only the shouting and ringing bells of the town raising to alarm, but then behind that commotion he picked out one steady, familiar note. The drone of alcohol-burning engines turning at full speed, driving the gas bag against the wind.


    ¡°They really want this box,¡± he said, and passed the telescope to Derghan, who looked through it and whistled.


    ¡°And they are willing to challenge a Herald for it,¡± Yngmir rumbled as a squad of men in chainmail rushed up onto the hall¡¯s lawn and formed a shield wall. Jerl looked and smiled slightly as he saw the Queen straining against the ropes and ready to fly. He was going to make Marren quartermaster after this.


    If they survived.


    ¡°Exactly how mighty are you?¡± Derghan asked.


    ¡°Mighty. But so is cannon shot.¡± Yngmir scowled and glanced behind him. ¡°And even if they cannot destroy me, they can hover beyond my reach, bombard my people and burn the hall.¡±


    ¡°You think they will?¡±


    ¡°They have already gone farther than I would deem sane by coming here in force. I put nothing beyond them, now.¡±


    Derghan handed the telescope back to Jerl ¡°I think that''s the Ring of Eternity in the middle, boss.¡± he said. Jerl looked. He had to agree. The Oneist flagship was the largest airship ever built, and rather unmistakeable. She was vast, large enough that the Queen could have fit on her weather deck like a cockboat. He was still examining it when there was a flash from the Ring¡¯s prow, and an orange glow that grew larger and brighter at an astonishing rate¡ª


    ¡°Down!¡± He threw himself in the dirt. Derghan was an inch behind him, but Yngmir was slower to react. The shot missed him by only feet as it shrieked over his ducking shoulder and burst against the Hall with a splintering crash and a burst of flame.


    ¡°No...NO!¡± Yngmir darted to the wall and began to try and smother the flames, beating at them desperately, but a second shot hammered into the roof and spread fire everywhere. Some of the quicker-thinking acolytes begun to flee the building, carrying whatever books and scrolls as they could take in their arms.


    The Herald backed away from the structure as a third burning cannonball burst and a tortured section of roof gave up and fell in, scattering burning beams and tile among the dry papers of the library. Jerl had never imagined that in all his life he would see a demigod weep openly. He was still staring in wonder when Yngmir turned on him with a strange, savage expression and pounced. He had a sudden, irrational moment of terror as he thought that in his rage and grief the Herald might blame and crush him, but instead he and Derghan were scooped up and held firmly but not uncomfortably in Yngmir¡¯s palm.


    ¡°I cannot defend it!¡± Yngmir mourned as he carried them. He stepped over the Hall''s wall and into the town, and though he rushed to carry them back to the Cavalier Queen, he didn''t step on so much as a chicken. ¡°A generation ago it would have been safe here. But they are insane! They would burn the Worlds down to have that box, and I cannot guard it.¡±


    He put his left hand on the roof of a house and vaulted it. Another fireball arced overhead. ¡°Take the...the fucking thing and throw it out of the Worlds. If they would do this to have it, they must be denied.¡±


    Jerl had to shout over the screaming and alarm bells. ¡°Where is the nearest gap?!¡± he asked.


    ¡°Down the valley, straight through their fleet,¡± Yngmir warned. ¡°But your ship is too damaged to flee against the wind. If you get the wind to your back and charge under them, you can break through and escape while they are turning.¡±


    In a few more bounding strides they were back at the Queen, and Yngmir set them down on her deck. The crew paused to gawk at him, some pulling their hats off respectfully.


    ¡°Good luck,¡± he told them.


    ¡°Go save what you can, Yngmir!¡± Jerl replied. ¡°It''s been an honor.¡±


    ¡°And a pleasure, brief though it was. Farewell!¡±


    Jerl turned to his friend and chief engineer as the Herald turned back towards the Hall, which was now fully ablaze and spreading fire into the town around it.


    ¡°Storm coming, boss¡± Derghan told him. ¡°This is bad flying weather.¡±


    ¡°You''re right, but so is Yngmir. We can''t let them have this box. Derghan, I¡­.Sin¡¯s gonna be waiting in twenty years. You could still¡ª¡±


    Derghan did something Jerl hadn''t expected¡ªhe laughed. ¡°Fuck, Jerl, you''re a hopeless romantic aren''t you?¡± he shook his head and clapped a hand to Jerl''s shoulder. ¡°Her an'' me ain''t goin'' to happen, now. Those bastards''ll hunt us down until they''ve got their box or had their revenge for losin'' it. Neither of us are hidin'' from that. I may as well be here to help you get rid of it.¡±


    Jerl nodded slowly, then looked around at the remaining thirty or so men who constituted his crew. ¡°Offer stands. I''m taking what the lads died for and I''m going to chuck it through the closest hole to the Outside, or get shot down trying.¡± He swept his gaze across them, noticing just how tired they all were, and how many of them were bandaged and wounded. ¡°If any man here wants to get off and fight the fire in town, you have my blessing.¡±


    The crew looked sideways at one another, until Marren stepped forward.


    ¡°I think I speak for all of us when I say ''fuck that,'' skipper. We''re with you. Right lads?¡± he asked. There was a grim but united mutter of affirmation.


    Jerl nodded. There was nothing more to say.


    ¡°Well what are you waiting for, then? Jump to!¡± he barked, and they threw themselves into their work. There was a shudder as the steel locking bar pinning the Queen to the ground released them and, freed from that restraint, she leapt into the air and began to turn with the wind toward the looming Oneist fleet.


    <hr>


    <h2>Interlude: Beacon Outpost</h2>


    The world-sphere of Talvi 17.12.08.05.04


    Nils Civorage wasn''t in his ¡°office¡± when Jac Deragian went to take him food and drink. It had become a daily ritual for him now. The man simply didn''t remember to eat without prompting. Every man down in the mines was rank and smelly from weeks of hard labor and inadequate bathing and laundry, but Deragian would never have guessed that the worst stench would belong to their employer.


    Civorage had at least not soiled himself in his frenzy, but that was about it.


    Jac didn''t bother knocking on the door, which had been put up more to keep the smell contained than for any privacy. He just opened it, tried not to recoil at the rank fug that rolled forth within, and then stopped. Civorage was not there.


    He was standing there in mild surprise when a mine cart rolled past, coming back from hauling the latest load of spoil to the surface. ¡°He''s on the surface, cap''n!¡± one of the men riding it informed him.


    Sure enough, Civorage was up in the freezing cold and dark, standing near the edge of the light cordon with his head cocked faintly to one side. He had one hand tucked comfortably in the pocket of his coat, while the other turned that bastard fucking box over and over, restlessly.


    ¡°Shh...¡± he said, as Deragian walked up behind him. ¡°They''re telling me what''s in it.¡±


    The whispering sounded just the same to Deragian as it always had. It set his teeth on edge.


    ¡°I, uh...brought your food, Mister Civorage.¡±


    ¡°You''re a little senior to be playing tavern girl aren''t you, Jac?¡± Civorage asked. It was like a sudden blast of the old Nils Civorage in a good mood.


    ¡°Uh¡­well, yeah. Guess I am.¡±


    ¡°None of the lads want anything to do with the stinking obsessed madman, am I right?¡± When Deragian just shifted uncomfortably, Nils issued a single amused breath through his nose. ¡°Your silence says everything. I have rather let myself go, it''s true.¡±


    He turned around, and seemed...normal again. The frantic obsession was gone. His eyes were back to their old shrewd and smiling selves and even the malnourished lines in his face seemed shallower.


    ¡°All worth it,¡± he said. ¡°You see?¡± he raised the box. To Deragian, it looked the same as ever. ¡°Oh, silly of me. You can''t read it.¡±


    Nils raised the item and with deft, swift motions, dragged the runes around on its surface.


    ¡°I was beginning to fear that these shifting runes were just a red herring, a¡­trap, rather like the one that killed poor Vanda. But all puzzles have their solution,¡± he said. ¡°And the trick to this one is very clever indeed. If not for the whispering, I would never have deciphered it. Moving closer to the surface was the key Jac, thank you.¡±


    He turned away and gestured out into the darkness, where Jac could still just make out the sea of predatory shadows, standing patiently and muttering.


    ¡°They''re perfectly loud, aren''t they?¡± Nils asked. ¡°If a man were conspiring in my ear at this volume, I would have no trouble at all in understanding him. So I thought, maybe they aren''t muttering in Garanese. But nor is it Elfish, nor Craenen, nor Clansprek, Alakbiric, Yunei, or any other tongue I¡¯d recognize. But then I noticed....listen. Listen closely.¡±


    He moved the runes, and as he did so, the cadence and tone of the muttering changed. ¡°See?¡± He moved them again, and again the whispering altered. ¡°You see?!¡± he repeated with increasing mania dancing in his eyes.


    ¡°I hear it,¡± Jac admitted, though he didn¡¯t want to. Civorage¡¯s expression was terrifying.


    ¡°Now¡­listen closely.¡±


    He turned the runes, twisted and shuffled them, slid and rotated them until suddenly, they seemed to snap into place and transformed from their standard sickly green to an eye-twisting, almost painful blue unlike any color Jac had ever seen before.


    He flinched back from it and covered his eyes, but then¡­suddenly, horribly, it dawned on that now he understood. All of the tens of thousands of tortured souls out there were speaking a language. One he neither spoke himself nor had ever heard before, but impossible comprehension nevertheless settled in his mind like a leech, and he knew without understanding how that they were telling Civorage exactly what was inside that damned box.


    Nils turned to him and his face split into a triumphant rictus.


    In his hand, the box snapped open.


    <hr>


    <blockquote>


    ¡°Magestone (noun): a small object (not necessarily a stone, despite the name) carried by human practitioners of magic to serve as a repository of energy. In accordance with the Law of Refinement, the most efficient magestones are gathered directly from nature and left unaltered. Though there is no intrinsic benefit to doing so, mages often prefer to collect ¡°interesting¡± items such as crystals, skulls, and stones with natural holes through them.¡± ¡ªThe Initiate¡¯s Guide to Magecraft


    </blockquote>


    <h2>The Airship Cavalier Queen</h2>


    The world-sphere of Haust 12.06.03.06.03


    Two blades per engine made the ship sluggish to respond, but the wind down the valley was behind them, and given that all they needed to do at first was to get as much speed up as possible, there was little to do but point their nose straight towards the Oneist fleet and spin the engines up until they were screaming.


    A fireball from the Ring of Eternity shot past them as little more than a blurred line of orange which faded into a black river of smoke to starboard, uncomfortably close. They were charging straight down the barrel of its gun, and the men firing it didn''t need to compensate for lateral motion. In other words, they were an easy target.


    Rather than wait for them to reload and take a second shot, Jerl pushed the pitch lever as far forward as it would go, and men all across the deck shouted in alarm as they had to grab onto something. He had a fine line to tread. He knew exactly how swiftly the Queen would usually have responded, but now he pulled back and levelled her out much earlier than he ordinarily would have and still they only barely avoided losing their makeshift keel against the top of an erratic boulder. Her aim spoiled, the Ring of Eternity nevertheless tried another shot at them which detonated harmlessly among the glacial plain astern, and then returned its attention to bombarding the Thundering Hall.


    Most of the bigger vessels continued to push doggedly up the valley against the wind, clearly intent on taking the town and tearing it apart until they either had the box or else were convinced it wasn''t there. Three smaller, sleeker hulls peeled off from the pack however. It was a tricky maneuver they were performing, losing altitude and turning to go with the wind. An airship turned broad-side on to the wind was unstable, and violent maneuvers could cause the gondola hull to buck and shake, potentially casting the crew overboard. They would have the advantage once the maneuver was complete, so could afford to take the turn carefully and smoothly. Jerl just hoped that they had reacted slowly enough, and that the Cavalier Queen had enough speed up that they would make it to their objective before being caught.


    ¡°Marren!¡± he called, figuring that the man was effectively his second mate nowadays.


    ¡°Skipper!¡± Marren dropped from the rigging onto the deck. Jerl handed him the telescope.


    Jerl flailed an arm in the general direction of the pursuing ships. ¡°Keep an eye on them!¡± Marren raised the telescope, but before he''d even put it to his eye, he reached out to tap Jerl on the point of his shoulder.


    ¡°You''d better look at this yourself, skipper!¡± he said.


    Jerl turned. Half the town was on fire now, but that would probably cease to be an issue in a few minutes. Mountainous black cloud was pouring over the hills at the head of the valley and bearing down on the Thundering Hall and every airship in the valley. It had the purposeful, ground-hugging look of truly violent weather, and Jerl fancied he could see funnels forming on the underside, promising to birth tornadoes. In the face of that, the entire Oneist fleet was aborting its advance on the town and descending to batten down on the ground.


    Yngmir¡¯s doing? Pure good luck? They were decidedly overdue for some of that, but somehow, Jerl doubted it.


    ¡°Think we can ride it?¡± Marren asked.


    Jerl shook his head. ¡°I''ve been in a storm like that one before.¡± he said. ¡°It''ll just engulf us, and when it does...if it doesn''t smash us into a World, it''ll blow us under one.¡±


    ¡°Pardon me for asking, skipper, but I thought we weren''t expectin'' to get away from these bastards anyway?¡±


    ¡°What do you mean, Marren?¡±


    ¡°I mean now''s our chance to put some air between us and them and get rid of that damn box.¡±


    Jerl looked back again. ¡°Unless they''re crazy enough to keep chasing.¡± he said. Marren looked through the telescope. Two of the pursuing ships were sinking to the deck, running up signal flags asking the third why it wasn''t doing the same. Jerl suspected he knew what. ¡°Bet you a brass that''s the Make Your Own Fortune?¡± he offered.


    ¡°No bet,¡± Marren replied grimly. ¡°Civorage must be fucked in the head.¡±


    ¡°Even Yngmir thinks so.¡± Jerl replied. He patted the Queen''s controls. ¡°Alright old girl. Last time we were in one of these you only had sails. Now you''ve got engines. Let''s see what we can manage this time, aye?¡±


    There was a hiccup in said engines. It was probably just Derghan swapping the fuel barrels, but Jerl had always been slightly superstitious about his ship. She was with him for life, he knew that.


    ¡°Alright, get topside, tell the lads we''re riding the storm!¡± he ordered. Marren nodded and hauled himself up the rigging.


    They flew in comparative silence for some time as Jerl desperately tried to navigate by what little of the sky wasn''t being swallowed by the wall of angry turbulence behind them. They were, true to Yngmir''s word, aimed straight for where the river ran right off Haust to first rain, then freeze, then hail and snow down onto Talvi below.


    And beyond that, a rift in Talvi through which an object might be dropped out of the Nested Worlds altogether.


    ¡°''ware forward!¡± Somebody barked from above. Jerl returned his attention from the pursuit to where they were going and saw what the warning had been for¡ªthey were coming up on the edge cliff. He gripped the wheel and kicked the pedal to angle the engines slightly upwards. It would cost them some speed, but shooting out into edge turbulence without some up-thrust was always a bad idea.


    One second there was land below them, and then it was gone, falling behind where it ended in a ruddy brown wall of stone. The Queen shivered alarmingly as she ran into the downdraft where Talvi''s chill drew air down from the higher worlds. They lost altitude, but didn''t enter the dangerous sink that they might have. With another jolt they were past the worst turbulence and Jerl opened up again.


    Then the storm burst over the cliff above them. Just visible in its leading edge was the Make Your Own Fortune, which nosed down and dived as it cleared the cliff, putting some air between itself and the boiling clouds.


    ¡°Fuck me...¡± Marren muttered, watching the maneuver. Nobody with a shred of regard for their own safety would have dared such a stunt¡ªthe turbulence near the cliff could easily have forced the ship into the rock and splintered it.


    ¡°Well, if they''re going to fly crazy, let''s punish them for it!¡± Jerl cried, and span the wheel. The Cavalier Queen banked and nosed up as he turned back toward their pursuer.


    ¡°What are you doing?!¡± Marren demanded as he grabbed the wheelhouse. Similar shouts of protest echoed all over the ship.


    ¡°Rifles!¡± Jerl roared in reply. Marren paused, then nodded.


    ¡°Right, so you''re crazy too,¡± he said with a rictus grin, then rushed below decks.


    There was a sickening moment where it looked like Jerl had made a terrible mistake. The cliff was a blur to port, and when an eddy in the downdraught hit them they veered so close that a man hanging to the gas-bag''s flank could have reached out and brushed it with his fingertips. There were shouts of alarm as a tree growing vertiginously out of Haust''s five-mile flank clattered against their rigging and left leaves and broken twigs all over the deck. Jerl had to put all his weight on the wheel and brace his foot against the wheelhouse for good measure to turn them away from certain collision, but then they shot past an overhanging shelf in the cliff, the downdraught pushed them away from the wall again, and he was able to level them out, now only a hundred feet or so above the Make Your Own Fortune as it too pulled out of its hazardous descent.


    In combat between airships, the ship at higher altitude had an advantage¡ªits crew could fire into their enemy''s gas bag and throw firebombs down onto it if they got close enough, and could deny a clear shot to the other crew. When the Fortune had dived away from the storm, Jerl had seen that this would be their only opportunity to fight back properly. He had deemed the hazardous dive a risk worth taking.


    Men ran to and fro, handing out rifles and ammunition. Others hauled up the firebombs¡ªlittle more than recycled gas bladder material filled with fuel and half wrapped in a pitch-soaked strip of cloth.


    Seeing their ploy, the Make Your Own Fortune was turning hard, and both ships were still losing a lot of altitude. The Oneist ship was more agile with its undamaged engines and hull, but Jerl was an equal if not better helmsman, and had the advantage of altitude.


    The crew fell into a firing drill. Every man wore a harness to tether them to the deck. By turns, five men would lean over the hull and aim, wait for the order to fire, release a volley, and then the next team would drag them back up on deck, lean over themselves, fire and so on through all three teams, reloading as they waited to fire again, while the fourth team ran up and down helping and tossing firebombs


    ¡°Ready!¡± Jerl called, twisting the wheel hard to compensate as the Fortune tried to slip sideways below them. ¡°Commence firing!¡±


    ¡°First rank...FIRE!!!¡± Marren screamed. ¡°HEAVE! Second rank...FIRE!!!¡±


    Even with only five guns per rank, the result was still effective. Smokey puffs of the distinctive blue airship gas began to stream from every part of the Fortune''s bag. She tried to dodge again, but with guidance from the bomb droppers, Jerl was able to stay above her.


    There was a flare of light and one of the bomb men dropped his burning bladder of fuel over the rail, leaning over to watch it fall. He let out a whoop of triumph.


    ¡°Well hit! She''s burning!¡± he called.


    A fire topside spelled nearly certain doom for any airship. Jerl smiled a savage grin and spun the wheel to starboard, abandoning the Oneist ship to its fate.


    ¡°We got ''em!¡± he roared. There was general cheering, but it was doomed to be silenced instantly.


    The storm, unheeded above, had been floating out in open air with nothing for its lightning to strike. The charge within its clouds had grown, and grown, and begun to quest downwards in search of an outlet, and the highest and most vulnerable thing it found was the good ship Cavalier Queen. Every man on board threw themselves to the deck and clapped their hands to their ears in response to the thunderclap as a jagged eye-burning white line connected the ship to the clouds above it. The starboard engine became a billowing greasy fireball and cut out.


    With only one engine driving it, the Queen began to yaw hard to starboard, and the wheel became a blur that would have mangled the fingers of any man foolish enough to put his hand near it. Jerl could do nothing to correct their spin, and was forced to hold on for his life as the Worlds blurred around them.


    There was a percussive noise, and the weakened, damaged port engine tore itself off and twisted away into the sky. They were now caught in the wind, without even sails to try and control their course. But the storm was not done with them yet. This time, the lightning struck the bag and the Queen wallowed in the air, mortally wounded.


    Jerl dragged himself up to his feet, and turned the wheel experimentally. They had the rudder and elevators still at least, but the storm winds would overpower those. He looked up to see what last cruelty the wind had selected for them, and found himself staring into the deep, forbidding shadow under the landmass they had just departed.


    ¡°Ah, shit.¡±


    <hr>


    He lit the lanterns around the wheelhouse, men pulled magestones from their pockets and activated them, and huddled down wherever it seemed they might have some protection from the crash. With light in their hands and whatever luck hadn''t completely abandoned them, they might at least avoid the torture of becoming Shades.


    There was nothing that could be done about the fact that they were crashing, though. The flames had spread across the whole bag, and dousing them was a futile fantasy. They had seconds at best before the fire ate through the flame-resistant material of the bladders and spilled their gassy guts into the air. Jerl aimed them for the ground as fast as he dared, quietly begging the Queen to hold together just long enough.


    She did. They shot through the wall of darkness and all of a sudden the deck''s every shadow was home to a twisted smoke mockery of the human form, watching them with black eyes that were incongruously impassive and emotionless when set in a face that was twisted in a frozen howl of mortal terror. Each man held up his shining stone to ward them off, and clung on.


    They were within feet of the ground when there was a great ripping burst from above, and the Queen finally gave up. Jerl screwed his eyes shut, clung to the wheel, and prayed to die in the crash rather than be taken.


    The midnight snows of Talvi rose to meet them and the Cavalier Queen buried herself in them. Jerl''s last conscious memory was of his forehead surging forward to meet the wheel.


    <hr>


    He woke up, which was a surprise, but he couldn''t quite remember why it should be surprising. Stunned and uncertain of where he was he tried to move, and in a lance of agony from his right arm, recent history came back to him.


    He had not been taken. Lantern stones littered the deck, but the gas bag itself was on fire, as was most of the ship. And his arm was broken.


    Groaning in pain, he pushed the ship''s wheel off himself left-handed, and groped for a magestone as he met the hungry stare of a Shade. It recoiled as he brandished the tiny glowing object, and he pushed himself to his feet.


    Bodies littered the deck, and he breathed a sigh of relief that, although dead, it looked like most of them had been spared the grim fate of being Taken. Still in shock, he stumbled around the deck, trying to find any survivors¡­


    He found Derghan below decks in a pool of light from some scattered magestones and the sparking engine controls. He had an arm-thick wooden spar impaled right through his gut, but when Jerl prodded him, Derghan stirred.


    ¡°...Hey.¡± He choked around a mouthful of blood. Jerl didn''t know what to say. His thoughts were still too addled. He put a hand to his friend''s cheek and wept. Derghan coughed again, put a hand on Jerl''s shoulder. ¡°Chuck it for me,¡± he said. Jerl nodded, still unable to find any words, and Derghan smiled, blinked, opened his mouth to say something else, and died.


    In the end, he failed to account for half the crew, including Marren, and he spared a brief, futile moment of grief for the Shades the good airshipmen had become.


    The box was still safely in his pocket. He rescued his maps from an encroaching fire in the cabin, and sat down to try and figure out¡ªquickly, before the flames caught him¡ªwhat direction he should head to find the nearest Rift, and how far.


    Finally, there was some shred of bittersweet good luck. He needed only to go four miles, inwards further below Haust and deeper into the dark. He bound his broken arm in a sling, salvaged a cloak, his pistols and some water, strapped some glowing magelights to his chest, back and arms for all-round illumination and jumped down off the deck onto the snow below. Shades fled from the light he carried as he landed, and whispered at him in a language he couldn''t understand.


    He inspected the nearest one. The frozen horror on its face made identification a little difficult, but it wasn''t anybody he knew.


    ¡°Well¡­I guess even your shit company at the end is better than no company at all,¡± he told it, checked his bearings, and set out into the snow.


    He had barely gone a mile when the spreading flames finally found the fuel barrels, and spread the Cavalier Queen across the pitch black landscape in a thousand burning pieces.


    <hr>


    He had never been so cold in his life. Rather than endure his teeth chattering, he spoke to the Shades that were stalking him.


    ¡°All I ever wanted from life,¡± he told them, ¡°was to earn a living the slow and honest way. That''s all. No crazy schemes, no piracy, no mad ''spend a month down here in the dark digging for precious metals and gems'' scheme like Civorage...¡± He paused as the Shades abruptly and quite unexpectedly repeated the name ¡°Civorage.¡±


    ¡°...Fuck me. Figures the evil bugger would have bloody Shades whispering his name¡­.¡± Jerl muttered. ¡°Where was I? Ah, yeah. The slow way. Tour the worlds, buy stuff cheap in one place, sell it on at a mark up somewhere else. Live the good life with my friends off the profits. Maybe die in my own bed, maybe in somebody else¡¯s, maybe get stabbed in a tavern brawl, I don''t know. Something clean. Not dragging my freezing arse through the Talvian snows with the most precious object in all creation in my pocket. Not with all my friends dead.¡±


    He stopped, and rounded on the Shades, which continued to stare at him and gibber. ¡°...Guess you never thought you''d wind up like this either, did you?¡± He addressed one, and felt a lance of grief go through him as he saw that it was the Shade of a little boy, still clutching the shadow of a soft toy. ¡°You poor, poor sad buggers.¡±


    He turned and kept walking. ¡°I don''t get one thing. One simple thing. Gebby would have sold this bloody box for two steel coins and a cup of ale. And we''d have been none the wiser. Congratulations, one man''s greed sated and Civorage gets his hands on whichever Word is in here. The world''s a little bit more fucked over but at least my friends get to go on living.¡±


    Again he rounded on the Shades, and this time addressed what appeared to be a young woman, who stared blankly at him with tar-black tears running down her cheeks. ¡°I mean come on! Why? Why shoot him?¡± he asked her. ¡°Why impound the ship? Here! I have a script for you bastards!¡±


    He stomped on through the snow, allowing himself to get good and angry as a shield against the cold. He put on a nasally voice to play the part of an imaginary interlocutor.


    ¡°Why hello, Captain Holten! I represent a private art collector who unfortunately was aggrieved to miss the opportunity to collect an object of interest at the Winter Bazaar.¡±


    ¡°Well, I''m terribly sorry to hear that sir, but I don''t see what that has to do with my crew.¡±


    ¡°Well, Captain, it seems that the item in question was purchased by a member of your crew. My employer is very keen to add it to his collection and I was wondering if you could put me in contact with your man so that I might negotiate a fair exchange for it?¡±


    ¡°Oh, absolutely! I''m sure my navigator Amir will know who might have it. I bet it''s Gebby, he''s always picking up souvenirs.¡±


    ¡°I see. Do you suppose this ''Gebby'' is likely to be willing to part ways with it?¡±


    ¡°Offer him a brass coin and he''ll clean your boots too.¡±


    ¡°You''re most kind, Captain Holten. Fair winds to you.¡±


    ¡°And to you, imaginary polite prick who doesn''t kill all the people I care about!¡±


    The world ended in front of him, and he had to throw himself backwards and land in an undignified sitting position that jarred his broken arm to avoid walking straight off the edge and falling out of the Worlds.


    ¡°That''s how it should have gone. If they had any bloody brains. Or morals. Would that have been so hard?¡± He stood, and turned to look back in the general direction of where he thought the Make Your Own Fortune had crashed.


    ¡°Eh? Would that have been so fucking hard?!¡± he raged.


    ¡°Never pay for what you can take, Captain,¡± a smooth, calm voice replied.


    There was a flash, and Jerl¡¯s leg gave out beneath him in a sudden wet slap of agony. He collapsed in the snow with a scream.


    There was movement among the crowd of Shades that had followed him and Nils Civorage walked through them, smoke still dancing from the end of his exquisite dueling pistol. He didn''t appear to be holding any source of light, but the Shades did something Jerl could never have imagined, and bowed as they got out of his way. ¡°Although in this case, you are right: Your way would most certainly have been cheaper.¡±


    He holstered his pistol and extended a hand, and Jerl''s pocket tore as the box shot out of it and smacked into Civorage''s palm. Jerl went for his own gun, aimed it, and paused as he saw a faint light among the snowdrifts. Civorage glanced up and smiled slightly. ¡°That won''t work, you know,¡± he said.


    Jerl shot him anyway. A Shade stepped in the way, and Civorage smiled as the shot disintegrated harmlessly inside the thing''s translucent body.


    ¡°I did tell you,¡± he said. ¡°But, I know you well enough by now to know that you don''t give up. Are you going to try again?¡±


    ¡°Waste of time.¡± Jerl muttered, though he didn¡¯t lower the gun, yet.


    ¡°Indeed. And you''re a smart man! I assume you''re thinking you can bide your time, wait for an opportune moment. That won''t work either. No, take my advice and just blow your brains out. You wouldn¡¯t want to become a shade like your father, would you?¡±


    He raised the box and moved the runes around on its surface with deft, rapid motions, cocking his ear to listen. ¡°I''ve won, you see.¡±


    As he did so, the cadence of the Shades¡¯ whispering changed and shifted: somehow the random babble became even more maddening. Jerl¡¯s arm was shaking and¡­


    And he was so¡­tired. In so much pain. So cold. Amir was dead. Derghan was dead. Gebby, Marren, Villo and Toren, Tarruk, Padrig, Vando, all the rest¡­


    The only people he had left now were his mother and sisters, and they¡¯d never know what had happened to him. Maybe they¡¯d hear a rumor about the attack on the Hall, but¡­they and Sin¡¯s next chal and all the ones ever after would live in the world Nils Civorage made.


    What even was the fucking point, now?


    He pulled the trigger. Another bullet shriveled away inside a Shade¡¯s body, and Civorage didn¡¯t even glance at him. At last, the fight went out of him, Jerl¡¯s strength failed, and his hand dropped into the snow, along with his head.


    ¡°Where the bloody hell is that...?¡± Civorage grumbled to himself, then sighed and began to fiddle with the runes again. His fingers obviously knew exactly what they were doing, but something was tripping him up. He poked and twisted at the box, listening intently to the shades until abruptly he smiled and stroked the runes a certain way and they went a dazzling blue in his hand.


    ¡°Hah! Wha-? Oooff!¡±


    This last had been in response to the sudden shining of light from behind him and the sound of footsteps in the snow. With a cry of fury, Andony Marren thundered out of the dark and tackled the most powerful man in the worlds in his gut. Civorage flailed desperately as Jerl''s missing crewman punched him off his feet, but it was futile: together, both men went tumbling over the edge, and Civorage''s last wail of despair and failure echoed down, down into the endless silent void.


    The box thumped into the snow just a couple of feet in front of Jerl, and its runes went dark again.


    ¡°Marren...shit.¡± Jerl blinked stupidly at the hole they¡¯d disappeared into. Then, with tremendous effort and no small amount of pain, he dug his good hand into the ice and dragged himself toward the cube. The world was draining away around him, his vision was going dark at the edges, and he felt so utterly cold, so broken¡­but he had to know. It seemed¡­important, somehow. Futile, senseless and empty, but important.


    After four agonizing heaves, the box was in reach, and he sighed at it. ¡°So, the question is, do I jump in with you, shoot myself, or bleed to death here in the snow?¡± he asked it, and picked it up. He rolled awkwardly over to throw it into the rift, and paused as the runes lit up blue.


    He blinked, and listened to what the Shades had to say.


    The box snapped open in his hand.


    <hr>


    <h2>Interlude: The Airship Make Your Own Fortune</h2>


    The world-sphere of Talvi 22.12.08.05.04


    ¡°Cast off!¡± Jac Deragian bellowed, and he felt his ship surge beneath his feet as the ropes that had held it down while they inflated the bags were released and left behind. At long, long last they were away, and Jac was certain that there wasn''t enough money in all the Worlds to convince him to return.


    Not that he needed to. With the pay from this contract he could retire to somewhere nice and warm on Sayf where there was no such thing as Eclipse.


    He suspected, though, that no matter how warm it was, no matter how many long lazy days in the sunlight he enjoyed and no matter how much wine he drank, he''d never quite be free of the little shard of ice that had settled in his gut and tugged at him whenever he glanced at Nils Civorage.


    The man had walked among Shades unharmed. And they had bowed and stepped aside for him. Jac didn''t know what kind of power could provoke such deference from the mindless Taken, but he knew he wanted nothing to do with it. Not when he had worked out the whispered riddles that had opened the box. Exactly what kind of darkness it contained he didn''t want to contemplate. He was going to leave Civorage to enjoy that power and good riddance.


    He buried himself in his work so as to avoid Civorage, but the fact was there was little for him to do. The crew were all just as relieved as he was to be under way, morale was as high as it could go, and everyone was working perfectly. All of which left him with no excuse when his employer finally waved him over a few hours after they had taken off.


    ¡°We''re running well.¡± Civorage commented. Jac tried to ignore the box he was still turning over and over in his hand.


    ¡°The lads are glad to be back in the sky.¡± He replied.


    ¡°Glad to be out of the dark, you mean. I feel very much like I shall miss it now.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯ve¡­not had the same experience as you did. Sir.¡±


    ¡°Well. To celebrate, I have invited the other captains over for dinner. I''ve been saving a bottle of Urstlend Regent, twelve oh-four.¡± Civorage said. ¡°Very good vintage. Unless there is anything truly pressing, I think it only appropriate that you be present to celebrate our accomplishment.¡±


    Jac nodded glumly, seeing no good way out without offending the man whose good graces he still needed to cultivate at least until he was paid. ¡°Of course, Mister Civorage¡±


    Most of the rest of his day was occupied by the delicate maneuvering involved in bringing two airships sufficiently close together for a man to cross a plank between them, safely harnessed to the rigging.


    Word had spread about Civorage¡¯s communion with the shades, and the other four captains seemed just as wary and scared as Jac felt. They exchanged tense greetings and small talk as they came aboard, and all carefully avoided the subject of their dinner and the man hosting it.


    There was no avoiding him forever, though. Eventually, they had to dutifully knock on the door to Civorage''s quarters and enter. True to his word, Civorage had a bottle of sparkling wine on the table, cooling in Talvian ice¡­right next to the box.


    A round of small talk and congratulations, made all the easier by genuinely excellent wine, did do a fair bit to relax Jac. He couldn¡¯t quite shake a gnawing tension in his belly that returned whenever he glanced back at the table and saw the box squatting there, but for a time he began to hope and think that maybe they were just in for a nice meal and nothing more...


    Until Civorage stood and tapped on his glass with a knife.


    ¡°Gentlemen. To wealth and success!¡± There was a round of agreement and the chime of glass on fine glass. ¡°In fact, it is that very subject I''d like to discuss. You all will have heard about this, of course.¡± He nudged the box and the runes on its surface flashed at his touch. ¡°I won''t disturb you with the details of what it is, but suffice it to say that I...well. I have had an epiphany.¡±


    The captains were all wearing carefully neutral expression now, and Civorage smiled at them. ¡°Gentlemen, my entire strategy to date has been misguided. It occurs to me that while I have been grubbing wealth out of the ground and squeezing coins out of cargo my whole life, I have rather badly been missing the point, and blinding myself to the fact that the real wealth is right between our ears.¡± He put a finger to his temple and flashed a small smile.


    Jac wanted to speak, but for some reason found that he couldn''t. He hoped it was just nervousness.


    ¡°The mind, gentlemen. The mind. Everyone has one. And, all along we have made our wealth by tapping it, in an oblique way. We win the loyalty of our crewmen with coin, keep their morale up with confidence and discipline, but that is just¡­mm!¡± he shook his head and made a hungry face. ¡°That is just the surface. The waters run so very deep, my friends. Deeper than I ever guessed.¡±


    Civorage was prowling around the room now, his hands animated and his eyes ablaze. ¡°The basic rule of commerce is sell the customer what they want,¡± he continued, in a softly delirious voice. ¡°Isn¡¯t it obvious then that they¡¯ll pay the most for what they want the most? But what do people truly want?¡±


    He was sermonizing now, gaze distant as though watching something in a different world and a different time only he could see. ¡°Value. The one longing that gnaws in every human heart is to matter, somehow. Don¡¯t we all want to make our mark on the worlds? If we can¡¯t actually live forever, can¡¯t we at least build something that does? There is the hunger, my friends: there is what we can sell them: We can sell them completeness.¡±


    Jac, through a desperate effort of will, managed to grunt. Nils shot him a briefly irritated look and Jac felt something fall away from him, as though the merest glance had been enough to¡­to¡­


    His thoughts felt fuzzy. All he could do now was¡­listen¡­


    ¡°I have seen the shape of the mind, gentlemen. And it contains¡­something like a valve,¡± Nils continued. ¡°When the valve is closed, we are alone, lost in the woods with a thousand branching paths ahead of us that all look the same. The dark closes in and we cling to whatever trinkets and scraps of purpose we can find. But when it is opened¡­¡±


    He let out a shaky, manic breath. ¡°...When it is opened, we belong. We flow outwards to join in something so much bigger, so much more¡­beautiful. All the hardships fall away. Loneliness, worthlessness, the agony of decision, the absence of purpose¡­all of them are lies, gentlemen. Lies of our own making. They blow away like smoke on the breeze, when we just let go and become one with the higher calling. What more precious service could we ever offer?¡±


    Jac could take no more of this. It wasn¡¯t that the words were wrong, it was the intent that sickened him. Civorage was talking about spiritual rapture as though it were a gold mine he intended to plunder. It was profane.


    He tried to stand up and leave. He wanted to with all his will, but his body would do nothing more than stare slack-jawed and listen. Nils sat down again and leaned forward, and Jac¡¯s traitorous body wouldn¡¯t even tremble in fear at the unhinged thirst burning in those blue eyes.


    ¡°Imagine it!¡± Nils wasn¡¯t talking to them any longer, but congratulating himself. ¡°Thousands of people begging me to do their thinking for them. Bending the knee and bowing their heads, and flocking in droves to pay for the privilege of surrender. All I need do is convince them.¡±


    He smiled, and picked up the box: it opened in his hand again. ¡°Allow me to begin by convincing you, gentlemen...¡±


    Jac Deragian''s last conscious thought before Nils unmade and replaced him was to wish the bastard had at least left him the freedom to scream.


    <hr>


    <blockquote>


    ¡°I saw a smiling one, once. You know how they usually have that fear face? Well, this one didn''t. He looked...happy. That one was scarier than all his mates put together...¡± ¡ªoverheard in the Broken Baron inn, Gideon''s Reach, Enerlend, E?rrach


    </blockquote>


    <h2>The Unbroken Earthmote</h2>


    The world-sphere of Talvi 12.06.03.06.05


    Time.


    The Word of it, the shape of it, the knowledge of it. Perfect, complete understanding of the flow and weave of time flowed out of the box and into Jerl¡¯s very soul. All of time unrolled itself like a tapestry before him, and he saw, felt, was the knowledge that past and present were¡­nonsense.


    There was no past, nor future. There was no forward or backward but rather depth and breadth and height to time, and yet none at all at the same time.


    There was no present. ¡°Now¡± was a fiction, a useful nonsense. Like zero, it did not really exist, even though it made perfect sense.


    It was all far more than his brain should have been able to handle, It should have driven him insane. Instead, it all made a perfect kind of sense, as if he''d just got the joke. The Word held him stable, and allowed his fragile, crystalline consciousness to float high beyond time and survey its completeness.


    He focused on the alternatives and the could-have-beens.


    Here, Jerl saw himself taken by the Shades to leave his father grieving. Here, Amir had introduced Jerl to Yngmir in person. Here, Civorage¡¯s expedition had been a ruinous failure and the worlds spun peacefully onwards without him.


    Then there were the pocket moments, unreachable via normal causality. There, Sinikka and Derghan''s love was a nightly source of loud and vigorous noises from his or her cabin: There, Gebby somehow find the willpower to turn down the pretty merchant girl at the Winter Bazaar and picked some other bauble. In one miraculous jewel of an impossibility, Civorage came to his senses, re-buried the box and never spoke of it again¡­


    Jerl saw all their possibilities, not so much like a man standing on a hillside surveying a river delta, but more like walking around a card table, seeing the hands and possibilities on the table, and being given the choice of which one he wanted to pick up and play. All he had to do was choose a moment...


    ¡°You are fortunate,¡± a voice told him.


    He opened his eyes, and became aware of the Shades retreating as soft white light washed over him. Perspective shifted, understanding faded, and Jerl¡­forgot. The Word¡¯s power receded, leaving him stranded in the normal flow of time like a fish in a dried-up lake. He was just Jerl again, dying slowly and painfully in the snow.


    The speaker was a slight, feminine figure clad in diaphanous blue cloth. Her skin was icy pale, she wore a simple platinum twist in her silver-white hair, and her eyes glowed a perfect uniform chilly blue from corner to corner. As she stepped light and barefoot through snow, she left tiny pockets of freezing mist in each footprint.


    She smiled at him as she reached his side and smoothed her skirts delicately as she knelt beside him. ¡°Or skillful and tenacious, which I think I prefer.¡±


    ¡°I...would bow.¡± Jerl said. ¡°But I can''t stand.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t like being bowed to anyway,¡± Queen Talvi told him, and touched her hand to his cheek: her fingers were, surprisingly, merely cool. ¡°Besides: You have earned my respect.¡±


    At her touch, Jerl¡¯s pain vanished and warmth spread through him, beginning in his heart and washing away the sickening agony of the gut shot. The broken bones of his arm painlessly united and were strong again, and even the biting chill of the wind and ice faded, leaving behind only a crisp, comfortable chill.


    ¡°I doubt I deserve it,¡± Jerl said, ¡°but...thank you.¡± He accepted her hand and stood.


    ¡°You are most welcome,¡± Queen Talvi replied.


    ¡°You knew I¡¯d be here?¡±


    Talvi inclined her head yes. ¡°Don¡¯t forget, we sealed this Word away, once,¡± she said. ¡°When Civorage¡¯s hubris became evident, we retrieved it, and spoke it, and searched time for the best course of action.¡±


    ¡°And¡­this was it?¡± Jerl asked, looking down at the remarkably large patch of crimson where his own blood was still frozen around his boots. And beside it, the pit into which a good man had thrown himself to rid the worlds of a truly evil one.


    ¡°Everything you have endured the last few days, the deaths of your friends, the loss of your ship, witnessing the nornfey ritual, the burning of the Thundering Hall¡­all is as we foresaw. And it was all necessary, for you to understand what you face.¡±


    Like an apologetic mother, she reached up to tidy his collar and brushed some snow off his shoulder. As she did so, Jerl¡¯s clothes mended and cleaned themselves. ¡°I am¡­sorry¡­that you had to go through all this, Jerl. I am sorry that the burden falls on you. I am sorry that it must fall on anyone. But what we foresaw made it quite plain that the best hope for all the worlds now was for this moment to come to pass, and for Time to find its way into your hands.¡±


    Jerl glanced down at the box. He could have focused and seen for himself but¡­he believed her. This was a tremendous power he held. One he guessed the Crowns would never have given to anyone otherwise.


    ¡°What will you do now?¡± Talvi asked him.


    Jerl shrugged. ¡°I just want my friends back,¡± he said.


    She smiled. ¡°That is...a very pure wish, Jerl Holten. I am glad.¡±


    He bowed his head. ¡°Would it disappoint you to learn that I''ll want revenge afterwards?¡±


    ¡°Not at all.¡± She shook her head. ¡°Vengeance is no less pure of a desire. I leave it to your own conscience to decide whether it is a less noble one.¡±


    Jerl nodded, and looked around at the dark, and the shades. ¡°I¡­suppose I should come up with a plan. Figure out what to do and do it.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s no rush. You know better than anyone that we have time, don¡¯t we? And you must surely have questions¡­¡±


    Jerl paused, but she was right. With this...he could ask every question there possibly was of her. If he wanted. But there were only a few that stood out.


    ¡°...If I went back far enough, I could save my father,¡± he said. ¡°And that¡¯s before Civorage ever found his Word. I could prevent it from ever happening. But why is every branch I see down that path even worse?¡±


    Talvi¡¯s frozen blue eyes went soft with pity. ¡°Because you have been entrusted with incredible power, Jerl. Far more than anyone, mortal or immortal, really ought to have. If you use it unwisely, you will break everything.¡±


    ¡°Then why did you choose me?¡±


    ¡°We did not. Time itself did. Call it fate, destiny, or perhaps the will of a higher power, when we went seeking answers, you were the answer we found. We don¡¯t know why, any more than you do.¡± She shook her head. ¡°But you are a genuinely humble man, with humble ambitions, and qualities we admire. Though I¡¯m pleased to say there are many such in the worlds. Perhaps in time, you will find others and entrust them with power too. You will need allies if you are to defeat Civorage.¡±


    ¡°I could do that right here and now, by just blowing my own brains out.¡± Jerl indicated the rent in the worlds and the endless void beyond. ¡°He¡¯s gone. If I¡¯m gone too...no more Words in the minds of men.¡±


    Talvi shook her head. ¡°No. To you has been granted Time. He found and seized Mind. With that power, death cannot claim him. He is no longer bound to flesh, as you are. So long as he has thralls¡­¡±


    ¡°I see...¡± Jerl sighed, and looked down at his hands. Strange, that he should feel so warm while sitting in the snow next to Winter herself.


    Another question occurred to him.


    ¡°Why these?¡± He indicated the watchful Shades. ¡°What are they for? Why build a world where this can happen to...well, to a child?¡± he indicated the one with the soft toy.


    Talvi gave the child-shade a look of immeasurable regret. ¡°Not everything is as we wished it to be,¡± she said, softly.


    ¡°Can¡¯t you save them?¡±


    She shook her head and replied cryptically. ¡°Power constrains.¡±


    ¡°Can I?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡± She turned back to face him. ¡°Perhaps you have freedom we don¡¯t, Jerl. Perhaps you can find a way. I don¡¯t know. But I will not say it is impossible.¡±


    Jerl sighed. That wasn''t what he¡¯d wanted to hear, but it was still more grounds for hope than he¡¯d had before. ¡°That''ll have to do.¡± he said.


    ¡°Are you sure you don¡¯t have any other questions?¡±


    ¡°My lady¡­¡± Jerl watched the fog of his breath dance on the air in front of him as he thought about his reply. ¡°All I ever wanted is a simple life. And even if I get it, the questions I have¡­I¡¯d never have a simple life again if they were answered.¡±


    ¡°You choose happy ignorance, then?¡± Talvi asked.


    ¡°Is that so wrong?¡±


    A goddess shrugged at him.


    Jerl nodded, feeling oddly reassured. He looked around at all the devastation and suffering that lay about him, and took a cleansing breath of frozen air. ¡°I should be going,¡± he said, and drew upon the power again. The Word was waiting for him to speak it and truly claim its power.


    Talvi nodded. ¡°Very well. Farewell, Jerl. Will we meet again, on the path you are choosing?¡±


    Jerl surveyed his options. There were many where he and the Crown of Winter were reunited, but¡­


    Now he looked at it, he saw clearly that the best thing for himself and everyone was to set aside the full extent of his new gifts. To see all possibilities was maddening, tantalizing, impossible. He was beginning to understand how the Crowns might have made mistakes, as they tried in vain to pursue all the gleaming gems they could see from their perspective.


    And if Civorage had tried to hold on to the full power of a Word, then he must be utterly mad by now. Such an inhuman perspective would quickly erode even the most stable of minds. No, Jerl needed something...lower. He needed to not know exactly what each decision would lead to. He needed to still be, fundamentally, mortal.


    And that, for better or worse, meant living in the moment.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± he said, and felt right as soon as he said it. ¡°In case we don¡¯t...it has been an honor and a privilege, my lady.¡±


    ¡°Then before you go...¡± Talvi stretched up on tiptoes to give him a motherly kiss on the cheek that felt as comfortingly cool as the unused side of a pillow. ¡°When you see Bekhil, remind her again from me that I love her, no matter what,¡± she requested.


    ¡°Uh¡­who?¡±


    Talvi merely gave him an infuriating little smile, and turned to walk away through the snow. The shades scattered from her path, and Jerl watched until her light faded from sight and he was alone again. Only the shades remained, and they watched him from the edge of the magelight with the same empty-eyed hunger they ever had. Poor bastards.


    Jerl nodded and took a deep breath. There was nothing left for him here, so he searched his memory for the moment he wanted, found it, looked down at the open box in his palm¡­


    And spoke the Word of Time.


    <hr>


    <h2>The Airship Cavalier Queen</h2>


    Near Long Drop City, Alakbir Earthmote, the world-tier of Sayf 09.06.03.06.03


    ¡°Derghan wants to know when we''ll land. And I''d bloody well like to know too, nay?¡±


    Jerl smiled. The sun was warm, the Queen was creaking gently in the breeze, and he had just heard a voice he¡¯d never thought to hear again.


    ¡°Jerl? You asleep?¡± Sinikka asked.


    ¡°Just enjoying the moment,¡± he replied lazily. ¡°You should try it sometime.¡±


    ¡°I''ll enjoy the moment when we''re out of this fucking heat,¡± Sin retorted, sitting on a barrel of Cloudtreader Whisky. ¡°They still haven''t called us to land?¡±


    ¡°Any second now, I promise you that.¡±


    Jerl opened his eyes, stuck his pipe in his belt and stood up, then gave Sinikka a big, surprising (and quite damp considering how sweaty she was) hug. ¡°Good to see you again.¡±


    ¡°I didn''t know half an hour meant so much to you¡ªwhere are you going?¡± she asked, following as Jerl stepped down off the Fo¡¯c¡¯sle and walked the gangway towards the wheelhouse.


    ¡°You''ll see. Gebby! Great to see you mate, you''re looking well! You looked like a dying man last time I spoke to you!¡±


    The Queen''s helmsman blinked at his captain. ¡°Uh...I did?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Sort of. Hey, didn''t you buy a box or something at the Winter Bazaar?¡±


    ¡°Uh, aye, actually I did. Puzzle box of some kind, I can''t get it to open.¡±


    ¡°Great! Give you a brass for it.¡± Jerl offered him with a smile


    Wh-? A whole brass?¡± When Jerl simply smiled and nodded, Gebby shrugged and opened his satchel. ¡°Alright!¡±


    As he dug in his coin pouch, Jerl glanced over the side and looked down, and smiled when he saw exactly what he was looking for.


    ¡°Here you go skipper. You sure about this? I only bought it for three steel¡­¡±


    Jerl smiled and tossed him one of the pentagonal brass coins. ¡°Absolutely sure,¡± he said, taking the box. The moment it was in his hand it tried to snap open. ¡°Stop that!¡± he ordered: it locked itself again with a click.


    ¡°Wha¨C?¡± Sin frowned at the box, confused.


    ¡°Don''t ask.¡± Jerl said.


    He tossed the little wooden cube up and down in his hand once or twice, smiled as Amir emerged on deck to see what was going on, then turned, wound up, and threw it overboard with all his strength while aiming high and outwards toward the gap far below them. If his aim was true, it would fall out of the Worlds. He really, really hoped his aim was true.


    Sin, Gebby and Amir all exchanged puzzled expressions as Jerl smiled the widest grin he¡¯d found the energy for in days, and dusted his hands off.


    ¡°Green flag, Gebrahin. Bay twelve.¡± he said.


    ¡°Uh...?¡± the helmsman asked him.


    ¡°Go on, jump to! And wipe that silly look off your face!¡± Jerl laughed. Gebby blinked at him a second longer, then shook himself and took the wheel.


    Jerl turned to Sinikka, who was regarding him with the same wary expression a woodsman might wear if they stumbled into a glade and found a deer reading a newspaper in a high-backed chair. ¡°Derghan could probably use a hand fuelling up, and I know he''d be glad of your company,¡± he said. ¡°And it''s cooler below decks! Perfect match! Amir! I missed you, mate!¡±


    He clapped his friend on the back, hugged him close, and walked him toward the Fo¡¯c¡¯sle, ignoring the way Amir turned back to give Sin with a look of utter bewilderment, and the way she shrugged helplessly before heading below. ¡°Could we maybe talk about a chap called Mister Bellarn?¡±


    ¡°Bellarn?¡±


    ¡°Bellarn. You know, hangs around with two other chaps, uh¡­¡±


    ¡°Coven and Sterval,¡± Amir nodded. ¡°I know him. Why do you ask?¡±


    ¡°Oh, he''s going to be waiting for us on the dock,¡± Jerl said. He sat down and glanced at Long Drop City. Sure enough, the green flag above bay twelve was raised. He nodded¡ªhistory was unfolding as remembered.


    ¡°I hope he isn''t!¡± Amir exclaimed. ¡°What makes you say that? Bellarn is bad news!¡±


    ¡°Oh, I know. I already received it.¡±


    Amir took off his kufi and ran a hand through his hair. ¡°...Jerl, have you been at the Feyleaf?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Hmm, that''s a good idea. Too bad we¡¯ve run out.¡±


    ¡°Uh? No, I''m just asking when you''re going to start making sense.¡± Amir pleaded.


    Jerl smiled his widest and most smug smile. ¡°About two hours from now,¡± he promised. ¡°When we''re in the Chart and Charter. But first...you know how to contact the Street Rats, right?¡±


    ¡°Well...yes. Since you ask.¡±


    ¡°Good man. Ask them to have somebody keeping an eye on us at the inn.¡±


    Amir inclined his head on one side and viewed him askance. ¡°...Why?¡± he asked. ¡°I mean, what''s in it for them?¡±


    ¡°Oh, somebody''s going to impersonate them and try to kill us under a coin truce,¡± Jerl predicted. He folded his arms and his smile got a little wider. ¡°Think that''ll give them a reason?¡±


    ¡°How could you possibly know something like that?¡± Amir asked.


    ¡°I promise, all will be explained in due time,¡± Jerl assured him ¡°...Hah. Time. But we don''t have long enough right now and I need you to trust me, otherwise things are going to go badly for us.¡±


    Amir frowned at him a moment longer, then finally nodded. ¡°All right. But I''ll hold you to that promise.¡±


    ¡°Of course.¡±


    ¡°Well...I shall go write that letter then.¡±


    ¡°Before you do, what''s Bellarn''s first name?¡±


    ¡°Uh? Oh. Uh¡­Arthir, I think.¡±


    ¡°Perfect, thanks! Pass the word round the crew to get their stuff together ready to disembark would you? They¡¯ll try to impound us.¡±


    ¡°Jerl!¡± Amir protested.


    ¡°Bet you ten brass!¡± Jerl replied, relighting his pipe. Amir blinked at him helplessly, then finally shook his head and bustled off.


    Jerl smiled and blew a smoke ring that vanished astern in the wind.


    This time, things were going to be different.

 Chapter 4: A Second Chance

    <blockquote>


    ?¡°Go climb up the bag, but be sure your grip is fast¡ª For if you make a slip, boy, it might be your last! So check your harness, test your line, be sure the rigging¡¯s sound¡ª Remember it¡¯s a long, a long, a long way to the ground!¡±? ¡ªThe Airshipman¡¯s Last Shanty


    </blockquote>


    <h2>Long Drop City</h2>


    Alakbir Earthmote, the World-Sphere of Sayf 09.06.03.06.03


    ¡°Mister Bellarn!¡± Jerl threw his arms wide and swaggered down the gangplank as if greeting an old and dear friend. ¡°Or can I call you Arth?¡±


    ¡°I...forgive me Captain,¡± Bellarn stammered, completely off-balance as Jerl took his hand and pumped it enthusiastically. ¡°H-have, uh, have we met before?¡±


    ¡°In a manner of speaking. Now, Arth, that document there looks important. Let me guess: Impound notice?¡±


    ¡°Ah... well, uh. Yes. How did you¡ª?¡±


    ¡°I thought so! I asked myself, you see, ''Jerl'' I asked ''What possible reason could there be for an important man like Arthir Bellarn and his good chums to meet us on the dock?'' and then the answer hit me! I daresay the delay in our landing was the time it took to send a fast rider up to Ajhazra for the Sharif¡¯s seal, yes?¡±


    ¡°How could you poss¡ª?¡±


    Jerl grinned into Bellarn¡¯s bewildered face. ¡°And I imagine the release fee has been set at the maximum and constitutes a formality in our case? No problem, I understand entirely and will comply lawfully with the notice. We have no contraband to hide, Arth.¡±


    ¡°Would you kindly stop calling me-¡±


    ¡°Of course as a respected businessman, you¡¯ll understand completely if I retain my own lawyer to ensure there¡¯s no foul play, hmm? No planting of contraband that wasn¡¯t there before, no attempt to frame us for a crime we didn¡¯t commit?¡±


    ¡°I would never¡ª!¡±


    ¡°Oh, please forgive me Arth, I didn¡¯t mean to imply that you personally would be involved in such base chicanery, I would never insult an esteemed figure such as yourself! It¡¯s just that, let¡¯s be honest between two men of business, hey? This sort of thing really is highly irregular, but that¡¯s neither here nor there! You¡¯ll play your part, I¡¯ll play mine, and we¡¯ll all be friends when it shakes out in the end I¡¯m sure! Here!¡± Jerl pressed a ten-silver banking note into Bellarn¡¯s palm. ¡°That¡¯s for your trouble, because I¡¯m sure Mister Civorage never pays what you¡¯re worth.¡± The words were flowing like a torrent now, practically battering the old man. But money¡­Arth Bellarn understood money.


    And he definitely understood bribes.


    ¡°I¡­¡± Bellarn hesitated as though expecting to be interrupted again, then cleared his throat and regained some poise. The note vanished into his inside jacket pocket. ¡°...Yes, captain, I believe you are entitled to refuse search of the ship absent the presence of a neutral arbiter, under¡­¡± he glanced at Sterval.


    ¡°Article two, section four, clause seven of the standard freemerchant¡¯s port contract,¡± the man, whom Jerl had taken for no more than a thug, rattled off smoothly.


    ¡°Thank you, Mister Sterval.¡± A tight and out-of-place smile flickered across Bellarn¡¯s lips, like a fish flitting from cover to cover, afraid of being eaten. ¡°And may I commend you on your intimate knowledge of the contract, captain? So few have bothered to study it properly,¡± he added.


    ¡°Many thanks to you,¡± Jerl tipped his head, making a careful note of what he¡¯d just heard. Two four seven. He¡¯d remember that, in case he had to come back this way again¡­ ¡°Anyway, I won''t detain you Mister Bellarn, you''re a busy man! Places to talk to, people to do, I''m sure. Come on mates, shore leave!¡±


    He strolled away down the jetty, and whispered to Amir, Sinikka and Derghan as he went. They looked just as stunned and confused as Coven and Sterval, who parted to make way for them at a gesture from Bellarn.


    ¡°Jerl, how did you¡ª?¡± Amir began.


    ¡°Later.¡±


    ¡°That was a huge bribe you just¡ª¡± Derghan tried.


    ¡°Later,¡± Jerl insisted, and led the way toward the Chart and Charter. ¡°Soon, I promise. But first: Amir?¡±


    ¡°Right. The Rats.¡± Amir looked around then gave an up-nod toward what Jerl had at first assumed to be a cloth bag somebody had left tucked between two crates. The bundle unfolded skinny legs and even skinnier arms and turned out to be a filthy, emaciated child of indeterminate gender, who stuck out their palm expectantly. Amir handed over two steel, whispered the message, and the urchin vanished through a gap that Jerl hadn¡¯t even noticed.


    ¡°Are they always around like that?¡± Jerl asked aloud.


    ¡°What, you don¡¯t know?¡± Amir retorted. ¡°And here I thought you¡¯d suddenly become omniscient.¡±


    If you only knew, Jerl thought. Aloud, he chuckled. ¡°Come on. We have an appointment with a mysterious note¡­¡±


    He led the way, whistling a jaunty tune while the others fell in behind him exchanging long-suffering looks. He¡¯d been right: this time wasn¡¯t just different¡­


    It was turning out to be fun.


    <hr>


    Half an hour later, he was starting to feel bored, though. Last time, they¡¯d had the impound notice to puzzle over and discuss. Without it, all they had was sitting and waiting, and even Jerl¡¯s patience was beginning to wear thin.


    Amir had settled into a quiet waiting game: he¡¯d taken the seat next to the fire and was idly waving his long, manicured fingers back and forth through the flames, harmlessly channeling the heat into charging the magestone in his other hand. Like most mages, he was in the habit of keeping interesting and unusual stones rather than any old plain river pebble, and this one was a colorful chunk of bornite he¡¯d claimed out of the Queen¡¯s hold.


    Sin was lounging upside-down in her chair with her beaded dreadlocks dangling to brush the floor, and was drumming her palms idly on her midriff. She was probably missing her guitar, Jerl guessed. He really should have reminded her to bring it: he¡¯d last heard her play nearly a week ago, by his personal reckoning, and it would have been a pleasant way to wait. With so many lifetimes to draw on, she was quite a talented musician.


    Derghan, of course, was the least patient. He¡¯d nursed two ales, and was now nursing a third, and kept looking up and around as though trying to guess what Jerl could possibly be waiting for.


    He wouldn¡¯t have to wait long, now. Jerl had just seen an anticipated exchange of coin and paper happening over by the bar.


    ¡°Here we go¡­¡± he said. All three of them perked up immediately: Derghan drained his ale, Sin twisted around to sit upright, and Amir withdrew his hand from the fire.


    ¡°....What?¡± Derghan asked after a second.


    ¡°Wait for it,¡± Jerl raised a finger.


    ¡°Oh come on, we¡¯ve been waiting for¡ª¡±


    ¡°Waaait for it....¡±


    ¡°Jerl¡ª¡± Derghan began, then shut up as a serving girl cleared their empty drinks off the table and replaced them, despite that none of them had ordered anything. As she set a new tankard down in front of Jerl, she slipped a scrap of paper under it.


    ¡°Message from a friend, read it then burn it,¡± she whispered


    ¡°Thanks honey,¡± Jerl replied*,* and tipped her a steel coin. She smiled, then was gone in a swish of skirts.


    ¡°What was that all about?¡± Sinikka demanded.


    Jerl twitched his finger, indicating for her to scoot aside. ¡°Make room.¡±


    ¡°Wha-?¡±


    ¡°Now how in the fuck did you know that would happen?¡± A new voice asked. Sin shifted over and a man in inexpensive but well-made clothing sat down next to her, across from Jerl.


    ¡°I have my ways,¡± Jerl replied. ¡°Here. I already know what it says.¡±


    The Street Rat frowned at him, but took the note and examined it.


    ¡°...Good forgery,¡± he said, at last. ¡°Bloody good. How did you know?¡±


    Jerl swigged his beer to conceal his nerves. So far, everything was proceeding as intended. But time, he knew better than anyone, was immensely fickle. The Word had granted him perspective, insight and power, but he¡¯d given up nearly all of it for the sake of sanity. In place of complete knowledge he¡¯d left¡­breadcrumbs. Trail markers in the form of deja vu and premonition.


    He knew he¡¯d done it¡­but he didn¡¯t actually remember any of them right this second. This was as far as he¡¯d allowed himself to retain. He was going to have to feel his way blind from here on out.


    Though, there was one other ace up his sleeve. If all else failed¡­


    ¡°It¡¯s a long story, and you won¡¯t believe it without further proof,¡± he said aloud. ¡°Which I¡¯ll provide, when you have time.¡±


    ¡°...Alright, I¡¯ll hold you to that.¡± The man leaned forward to frown at him. ¡°So why are you tellin¡¯ us about this?¡±


    ¡°Consider it a favor.¡±


    ¡°Hrrm. Smart man, getting the Rats to owe you,¡± their new friend said. He stood and pocketed the letter. ¡°You can call me Whisker. I¡¯ll need to take care of this. But I¡¯ll want to hear that long story, after.¡±


    ¡°Of course. We¡¯ll meet you at the warehouse, shall we?¡±


    ¡°Right.¡± Whisker nodded sharply, then was gone, moving so easily through the packed pub that the people may as well not have been there.


    Jerl took a satisfied swig of his ale, then turned to his friends, whose expressions of impatient confusion had only deepened.


    ¡°Right! Now that¡¯s dealt with, here''s the story. Try to keep an open mind¡­¡± he began.


    <hr>


    ¡°So. Any questions?¡± He finished.


    ¡°You threw away a Word of Creation¡­¡± Amir shook his head disbelievingly.


    ¡°She kissed me, huh?¡± Derghan mused, then smiled sheepishly when Sin gave him a decidedly frosty look.


    ¡°Yes I did, and oh yes she did.¡± Jerl grinned unrepentantly when Sin turned her irritation toward him in turn. ¡°What? You were dying. It was a beautiful farewell, really.¡±


    She paused, then blinked and all the frost drained out of her attitude. ¡°That¡¯s why you were so glad to see us,¡± she realized. ¡°You saw us all die.¡±


    ¡°Mm.¡± Jerl drank again. ¡°It¡¯s been a shit few days from my perspective¡­for what it¡¯s worth, you died well. Damn heroically, all of you. And the lads, too.¡±


    For a second, there was silence around the table. Amir in particular looked quite disturbed.


    Derghan broke the silence. ¡°Crownshit, that''s about the strangest story I ever heard,¡± he grunted. ¡°But I believe you. Pretty sure I never told you about me bein¡¯ the Vargur chief.¡±


    Sin nodded. ¡°And I¡¯m quite sure I¡¯ve never told any of you about chal-an-chal,¡± she agreed. ¡°True or not it¡¯s still bloody'' strange, nay?¡±


    ¡°What about you Amir?¡±


    Amir nodded, his brow furrowed. ¡°Impossible though it all sounds, I knew it was true the moment you mentioned Sevjin. But why come back here?¡±


    ¡°Hmm?¡± Jerl raised his eyebrows at him as he swigged his ale again.


    ¡°You could have gone back to Sky''s Edge, steered Gebby away from buying the box, and we would have had our lives in peace and freedom,¡± Amir elaborated. ¡°Why come back here, back in harm''s way?¡±


    ¡°Because we wouldn¡¯t have had our lives in peace and freedom. Because of Civorage. He needs putting a stop to.¡±


    Sinikka tilted her head at him. ¡°You''ve never been one for heroics before.¡±


    ¡°It''s not heroics. It¡¯s¡­I saw everything, Sin. All the possible futures I could have a hand in making. If I''d done what Amir suggested and steered us away from ever having the box in the first place, then five years from now the Worlds would be¡­fuck. They¡¯d be a nightmare.¡±


    He looked down into his drink. ¡°If I''d done that, then tomorrow morning the box would have been delivered into Civorage''s hand. Then two days from now, he''d open it. From that point on, he''d be unstoppable, able to speak himself backwards in time at a whim and choose which futures come to pass. The only futures where he doesn''t claim every soul in the worlds as his slaves, including us, are those in which he never, ever gets his hands on the Word of Time. Never even has the faintest chance to. The ones which begin at the moment I threw the fuckin¡¯ thing overboard.¡±


    He looked at their sober expressions, knowing his own was even grimmer. ¡°I know who sold Gebby the box, you see. It was Lady Haust herself. The Crowns saw how it all would turn out. Talvi came to meet me at the rift because she knew I''d be there. Haust sold the box to Gebby because the Crowns know the only good outcome started with that moment. E?rrach planted that boar pit in the Cronewood. I saw him do it.¡±


    ¡°And Old Man Summer?¡± asked Derghan.


    ¡°I¡­don¡¯t remember.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t?¡±


    ¡°I chose to forget a lot, it was the only way to stay sane. I didn¡¯t even keep a fraction of the word¡¯s powers.¡±


    ¡°But you did keep some,¡± Amir said.


    ¡°I kept enough. But a word of warning,¡± He leaned forward over the table, and they did the same, listening intently. ¡°There are no guarantees here. All I¡¯ve done is left¡­markers, for myself. Memories and flashes of a future where we''re all alive, rich and happy. That¡¯s what I¡¯m aiming for, but don¡¯t get it in your heads that you''re invincible. All I¡¯ve done is glimpse the future, from a distance: it¡¯s still up to you to make your happy endings happen.¡±


    ¡°So, you''re not all-powerful, then?¡± Derghan tutted when Jerl shook his head. ¡°Pity. Woulda been nice to have an omnipotent being in my corner.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d much rather just be me, thanks Derg,¡± Jerl replied.


    ¡°Can¡¯t argue with that, nay?¡± Sin agreed.


    ¡°Guess not.¡±


    Jerl chuckled, then glanced up at the clock behind the bar and stood. ¡°We should get topside. We¡¯re expected.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d better not get shot this time,¡± Sin said, rising with him.


    Jerl chuckled, drained the last of his ale, and beckoned for them all to follow him.


    ¡°Trust me,¡± he said. ¡°This time, things are different.¡±


    <hr>


    <h2>Interlude: Auldenheigh</h2>


    Capitol of the Garanhir Baronies, Enerlend, Garanhir Earthmote, the World-Sphere of E?rrach 09.05.15.06.01


    Speaker Benet Orwin greeted his congregation as they entered, blessing each one with a warm smile and a handshake, making them feel welcome. Every passing week brought more new people in to hear the Truth.


    Things were humble, still. Small circle meetings in the borrowed parlors of sympathetic nobles and merchants. But Orwin had been granted a glimpse of the Seer¡¯s grand vision, and it was blinding. There would be grand architecture, built to draw the eye upwards. Soaring music, bolstered by booming acoustics. There would be colorful light. He¡¯d seen it all, and felt the beauty of it break something inside him¡­


    Even if, right now, it was a little¡­hazy.


    Being away from the Seer had that effect on him. Things were so much clearer when he was in the Seer of the One¡¯s presence. When he could look in Nils Civorage¡¯s blue eyes and see the purpose burning there.


    No matter. Sermons allowed him to taste that clarity again. And there was nothing quite like the warmth he felt as the circle took their seats and looked up to him, waiting for him to speak.


    ¡°My friends,¡± he smiled and spread his hands wide. ¡°It¡¯s so good to see you again. And so good to see new faces, also. It¡¯s such a great privilege to be part of this growing community, and to feel the power of Oneness connecting us.¡±


    He¡¯d worked hard with the Seer to get his voice right. His natural voice was used to booming command across the deck of an airship, and that had left him with some gravel and spit in it. It was the gruff voice of a man who¡¯d lived through much, and come away wiser. With a little work and coaching from the Seer, he¡¯d softened some of that gravel and authority, and instead achieved a more fatherly tone.


    ¡°Today, I wanted to share a thought about purpose, and the future,¡± he said, and smiled at the way the returning kindred relaxed, their expressions softened and their eyes brightened. The newcomers blinked, caught off guard by his gentle tone.


    Exerting some of the Blessing completed the effect. After Beacon Mine, when the Seer had revealed the Truth to Orwin and his fellow speakers, He had granted them a fragment of his own miracle powers. With the Blessing, Orwin¡¯s voice could fascinate, compel and convince in ways that mere words alone could not. He could bring newcomers into the circle so easily, and further inspire the returning members.


    All he had to do was focus, and let it flow.


    ¡°Each of us has a gift, something special we can contribute to our community. Now, you may sit there and not be able to think what yours is, but I can assure you, you have it. Some, like our generous host¡ª¡± he made eye contact with Lord Gelthaber, who was seated anonymously toward the back of the room, and acknowledged him without drawing attention ¡°¡ªhave been blessed with the wealth to support our growing circle.¡±


    He turned his attention toward Lily Morander, a young widow who he knew to be struggling on an absolutely threadbare budget. ¡°Those of you without such obvious means instead know how to mend clothes and make tight provisions go far.¡± He saw her nod thoughtfully, and turned his gaze outwards to the others. ¡°Some of you have a talent for healing magic, or the gift of kind words and love, or poetry and music. Some of you may not yet know what your gift is. The important point is, you have one, whether you know it or not. Each of you¡­has a purpose.¡±


    He rested the tips of his fingers lightly on the table in front of him and leaned forward. ¡°Each of us has the power to give aid. We all know, life is not easy. We all face loss, and strife, and adversity. But we here know, we don¡¯t have to face them alone. We can turn to our left and our right, to the others of our circle, and say: ¡®You do not have to face the world alone: together there is nothing we cannot do.¡¯ Let us meditate now, with those words as our mantra¡­¡±


    This was the key to it all, of course. Foster loyalty, togetherness. Oneness, indeed. Unite them against the world. The shared mantra was one approach, and in time there would be music too.


    And of course, there was the Blessing. He could almost reach out and weave these minds together like branches in a wreath. He could feel them, feel the walls between person and person fall away under the eroding pressure of the mantra, and the power of the Blessing.


    At first the newcomers were discordant, rasping, clumsy. They had never done this before and didn¡¯t know how to let go. They kept their walls up and dammed the flow, for a time. But Orwin knew how to cajole with words and charm, not only use the Blessing. A few words of encouragement, sitting with them, smiling, a disarming joke¡­and soon, the circle was unbroken. For a time, they were¡­


    One.


    But the Seer¡¯s choice of a ring to represent their great effort was very deliberate. A ring had an empty center, a place untouched and unseen even when surrounded. And that was the speaker¡¯s role. He got to see, and¡­adjust, where necessary. Remove the discordant elements.


    One element in particular was very discordant, tonight. A suspicious newcomer, here to gather information rather than participate. Orwin gave her his special attention, made sure she was especially welcomed her into the fold until the discord faded and she too was lost in the Oneness.


    Good.


    The circle could be briefly united, here in this moment. But to remain united they needed more: they needed a shared cause. They needed to feel like it was them against something else.


    They needed an enemy.


    Which was why, as he allowed the wreath to detangle and the circle to become individuals again, as he smiled at their happy tears and amazed expressions, as he joked and sympathized with them as they came down from the high place they¡¯d lifted each other to, he prepared his next words with care.


    ¡°Unfortunately¡­not everyone sees the good we¡¯re trying to do. There are many who like our world in its current fractured state, who profit from division and isolation and loneliness. And let¡¯s not forget, it was the Crowns themselves who made the worlds this way, when they could have chosen otherwise. No, my friends, the entrenched powers will not welcome us, or our message. They¡¯ll paint us as ungrateful, or irritating, or irrational. Irrational! For embracing love and unity!¡±


    He shook his head, projecting avuncular sorrow rather than anger. ¡°It¡¯s why I¡¯m so pleased to see our numbers grow with every gathering of the circle, and see our new friends here today. I¡¯m sure you¡¯ve heard the slander, but you showed an open mind and came here anyway, to see for yourselves. I can¡¯t thank you enough for that, or praise you enough.¡±


    He stood in the middle of the circle and smiled at all of them. ¡°Adversity is no easy thing to face. But if we support and uplift one another in our journey, we can overcome anything. Let us hold fast to each other and our faith, knowing we are all part of something greater than ourselves. And let us never forget that the One love and grace is always with us, to guide us and to shelter us through fear and darkness.¡±


    Fervent nods and clasped hands signaled his success.


    ¡°We are blessed with purpose. Don¡¯t discount that, brothers and sisters. Don¡¯t discount what a miracle it is, in these broken worlds where so many, like the earthmotes they live upon, just drift and never really connect or know what they are for. We here are so very fortunate. Let us share that fortune. Until all are One.¡±


    The group, even the newcomers, echoed that parting phrase: ¡°Until all are One.¡± And thus, the service ended.


    There was much conversation afterwards, people milling around, hugging, smiling, welcoming the newcomers who in turn were giving their stunned, delighted opinion on what they¡¯d just experienced. Orwin didn¡¯t keep himself apart for that at all. It was important to the creed and truth that a speaker not be aloof from his circle. But, all good things had to end in time, and the demands of life beckoned. By ones and twos, the circle bade their farewells until next time, and departed.


    Orwin was the last to leave. He shook Lord Gelthaber¡¯s hand, thanked him again for his hospitality, and struck out for his comfortable residence in the adjoining Ruckhaven district, paid for by the Seer¡¯s generosity.


    Auldenheigh was both a joy and a challenge. The city was ancient, founded by the elves thousands of years ago at the height of their empire. They¡¯d known it as Vathelan, ¡°The City of the Arts,¡± and though not a trace of the ancient elvish architecture remained, it still lived up to that name. Auldenheigh was home to millions, and capitol of the largest single civilization anywhere in the worlds. Here was where the message of Oneness needed to take root more than anywhere else. If they could succeed here¡ªand they would¡ªthen the message would spread to all the worlds.


    Orwin was therefore burdened and blessed with a great responsibility, but it didn¡¯t stop him from enjoying the city. Having grown up in airship port towns on the edge, which were universally crowded, noisy and noisome, he¡¯d come to Auldenheigh expecting more of the same. Instead, he¡¯d found a grand old place with wide, well-lit boulevards lined by trees, and clean streets with covered sewers.


    He paused to heed a town cryer: ¡°Hear ye! Attention all! Eclipse will fall tonight at half past the eighteenth hour, to last for twenty-nine hours! Charge your lanterns well and shelter at home! Do not emerge until you hear the bells sound the all clear!¡±


    There was something Orwin and the Circle could do, he realized. Once they had a place of their own, they could take in the homeless and the desperate, who might not have a safe shelter for eclipse. Auldenheigh provided light shelters, but the Church of the One could do more. Should do more.


    He made a note to forward that thought to the Seer, and continued on his way. He needed to recharge his own lantern stones and get some food in before the eclipse came.


    There was much to do.


    <hr>


    <blockquote>


    ¡°Don''t pick a fight with a Rat. He¡¯s never more than twenty feet from his friends.¡± ¡ªoverheard outside the Lanyard Inn, Overhang


    </blockquote>


    <h2>Long Drop City</h2>


    Alakbir Earthmote, the World-Sphere of Sayf 09.06.03.06.03


    ¡°There you are.¡±


    Jerl blinked, having very nearly jumped out of his hide. He could have sworn he¡¯d glanced right at the doorway where the young man who addressed them was standing and seen nothing. But¡­there he was. Slight and waifish, but undeniably solid.


    ¡°Uh¡­yeah. Here we are,¡± he agreed, covering for a sudden and unwelcome feeling of being off-balance again. He was getting a powerful sense of deja vu, which only intensified as the Rat scoffed slightly and stepped into the light. He¡¯d seen that face, somewhere¡­


    ¡°Well I don¡¯t know where you got your information,¡± the Rat said, ¡°but you shot true alright.¡±


    ¡°You got ¡®em?¡±


    ¡°Sure did. And they¡¯re an interesting bunch. Three of ¡®em are genuine Street Rats, men I would have called solid up until half an hour ago.¡± A sharp scowl soured the young man¡¯s features, briefly. ¡°But the other two¡­¡±


    He gestured toward the warehouse. ¡°Come and wag tongues, eh? Name¡¯s Mouse, by the way.¡±


    ¡°Jerl.¡±


    ¡°Pleasure, I guess.¡± Mouse stepped aside. ¡°After you.¡±


    The warehouse was much as Jerl remembered it. A sloppy lighting job that left deep and dangerous shadows in every corner, perfect cover for unseen riflemen. Though the riflemen in question were now kneeling in a row with their hands tied behind their backs and their heads bowed, their expressions hollow. The man with the salt-and-pepper beard whom Sin had slain last time was sitting with a more stoic expression, and the sun elf was nowhere to be seen. Whisker was rifling through the bearded man¡¯s bag, and gave Jerl and his friends an up-nod as they entered.


    ¡°Got four of them,¡± he said. ¡°The elf jumped down the shaft. There¡¯ll be a heck of a mess to clean up down there.¡±


    ¡°Won¡¯t the Outer Worlds guards come looking?¡± Derghan asked.


    ¡°Already taken care of. Anyway. You got anything to ask of these shitpiles?¡± Whisker asked. ¡°Make it quick, they¡¯ve a date with the edge.¡±


    Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.


    ¡°Well, that depends on whether it¡¯s their fault or not,¡± Jerl said, and gestured to Amir, who gave him a confused frown then stepped forward to inspect the captives.


    Mouse was leaning against the doorframe. ¡°...Explain.¡±


    ¡°A hunch. Amir?¡±


    Amir smoothed his jubba under his knees as he knelt, then took a magestone from the pouch on his left hip, and extended his palm toward the first of the kneeling men. A faint shimmer in the air surrounded his fingertips, and after a moment he frowned and tilted his head, then slowly went wide-eyed. ¡°Lihyat al-Sayf¡ª!¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t keep us in suspense, friend,¡± Whisker said.


    ¡°There¡¯s a¡­a lingering magic about them. An enchantment.¡± Amir frowned and looked deeper into his test subject¡¯s eyes. ¡°Very curious.¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t know people could be enchanted,¡± Mouse commented.


    ¡°Oh, of course we can. That¡¯s how a healing spell works. But this is¡­very strange indeed. It¡¯s like they¡¯re, uh, linked somehow. Lashed together like Topsmen.¡±


    ¡°You wouldn¡¯t understand,¡± the man he was studying growled. ¡°You haven¡¯t been part of the circle. You haven¡¯t felt¡ª¡±


    Amir snapped his fingers. ¡°That¡¯s quite enough out of you,¡± he said, and suddenly the man¡¯s mouth was moving but no sound came out. Amir looked up at Mouse and offered a cheeky smile. ¡°See? Enchantment. But the peculiar thing about that is, the enchantment I just cast will last only so long as I maintain my concentration and a flow of energy from the magestone, and I don¡¯t know of anyone who could keep up more than one at a time. These gentlemen appear to be permanently affected.¡±


    He cast a look at the other two, who watched him warily, then over at salt-and-pepper-beard, whose expression was impassive. ¡°It¡¯s remarkable, truly remarkable.¡±


    ¡°What does it do, though?¡± Whisker Rat asked.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know exactly. Enchantment of the mind is not a field I know much about,¡± Amir said. ¡°I daresay very few do. Navigators use telepathic sending spells to communicate over great distances, but what¡¯s been done to these gentlemen is¡­unknown to me.¡±


    ¡°Describe it.¡±


    ¡°Tricky.¡± Amir stood and stroked his beard thoughtfully. ¡°As I said, it¡¯s like they¡¯re linked somehow. In their minds. There¡¯s a thread of magic flowing through all these men, flowing in both directions, tethering them to each other and to others elsewhere, too. But¡­I doubt a layperson will appreciate just how incredible a feat of magic this It¡¯s¡­entirely unlike anything I¡¯ve encountered before. Stronger. Cleaner. More tightly woven than any enchantment I¡¯ve ever seen.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s the work of a Word of Creation,¡± Jerl said, softly. When Whisker looked up at him with a darkly furrowed brow, he elaborate. ¡°Ten years ago, when Nils Civorage took his expedition down to Beacon Mine and came back as the wealthiest man in all the worlds, he unearthed something the Crowns hid away when they made the worlds. The Words of Creation are real, and Civorage has spoken one of them: Mind.¡±


    ¡°How did you know¡ª?¡± the seated man with the graying beard began, then clammed up. Whisker turned and stared at him for a long, thoughtful moment. Then he glanced up at Mouse, who shrugged, Amir, who made a thoughtful tilt of his head, and finally back to Jerl.


    ¡°Let¡¯s suppose I believe that,¡± he said, carefully. ¡°Are you saying these men aren¡¯t in control of their own actions?¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ve reached the limits of what I know,¡± Jerl confessed. ¡°I¡¯m still learning as I go. But¡­Amir?¡±


    The navigator pursed his lips thoughtful as considered their prisoners, then nodded slowly. ¡°This is mind magic, I can say that much for certain. I¡¯ve never heard of a wizard who could dominate the will of another and compel him to act, but¡­who knows what a Word of Creation could achieve?¡±


    ¡°At the very least, they¡¯re being influenced by an outside force, nay?¡± Sin observed.


    ¡°Absolutely.¡±


    Jerl watched Whisker make a thoughtful chewing motion as he considered the prisoners again, and realized he wanted an excuse. The three riflemen were fellow Rats, presumably friends of his. He didn¡¯t want to throw them from the edge any more than Jerl would have wanted to shove Marren overboard.


    Mouse broke the silence. ¡°Can it be undone?¡±


    All eyes turned to Amir again, who froze. ¡°I¡­.have no idea. But if it is the work of a Word, it¡¯s probably beyond my skill¡­or at least, beyond my skill to do safely¡­¡± he trailed off, then shook his head. ¡°I shouldn¡¯t like to try. For all I know I could end up getting my own mind caught up in this weave that links them, or the shock of severing it might do terrible things to them.¡±


    ¡°Question.¡± Derghan raised his hand. ¡°Mad thought, right? But you mentioned telepathy before. How do we know they¡¯re not passin¡¯ every word we¡¯re sayin¡¯ on to Civorage right now?¡±


    The room fell silent. Jerl looked down at gray-beard, who was still silently watching the conversation with alert, watchful eyes.


    ¡°...Shit.¡± Whisker spat on the floor then gestured to Mouse. ¡°Okay. Stay of execution. But lock ¡®em somewhere quiet until we can figure out what to do. Nobody knows where they are until we know they¡¯re not in this link, circle, weave thing too. And find out who this bastard is.¡± He kicked the sole of gray-beard¡¯s boot. ¡°Captain, let¡¯s talk somewhere else.¡±


    Mouse gave a sharp nod, and stood aside for them to leave. Jerl cast a last backward glance at gray-beard, then followed Whisker out into the street.


    As it turned out, keeping up with him was easier said than done. The topside district¡¯s population came out of their houses to conduct business in the cool immediately after darkfall, so the streets were crowded, yet Whisker flowed easily against the human tide, weaving effortlessly left and right to make progress while Jerl had to push and excuse-me for every step.


    Fortunately, Whisker didn¡¯t go far. A few buildings down the street he cut sideways between two houses, led them down a back alley and knocked on a door. Jerl noticed a hint of movement at a narrow window, then there was the sound of a sturdy deadbolt being pulled back, and the door opened. A woman with a tired, weatherbeaten face under her hijab beckoned them inside. Whisker spoke to her a few seconds in Alakbirian, then gestured to Amir.


    ¡°Could you¡­check her?¡± he asked. ¡°For this link, I mean.¡±


    ¡°Of course.¡± Amir didn¡¯t even bother with a magestone, this time: he waved his hand vaguely in the woman¡¯s direction, watched her intently a moment, then nodded to Whisker. ¡°Nothing.¡±


    ¡°Thank you. Come on.¡±


    The woman led them down some steps into a dry cellar, retrieved a pry bar from the top of a cupboard, and used it to lever up a flagstone. Underneath was a ladder.


    ¡°So the warrens are real after all¡­¡± Jerl commented.


    ¡°Don¡¯t get too excited,¡± Whisker warned, and slid down the ladder with a squeal of skin on steel. ¡°It¡¯s just a drain. But it¡¯s private.¡±


    Sure enough, the ladder bottomed out in a low-ceilinged drain that still smelled of damp though the walls and floor were bone dry. Alakbir was an infamously dry earthmote, but when it did rain, the weather had a bad habit of sticking around for days and dumping a lake¡¯s worth of water all at once. Long Drop¡¯s drainage system was a life-saving necessity, designed to make sure the people living in Topside weren¡¯t swept away and those living in Underside and Caverntown didn¡¯t drown. Not a safe place to be if the rain came, therefore¡­


    But right now it was just empty, unused space occupied only by the rats and, presumably, the Rats. Whisker grunted, fished some chewing tobacco from a tin in his pocket, offered it around, shrugged when it was refused, and gestured for them to walk with him.


    ¡°I now have a serious fuckin¡¯ problem,¡± he said.


    ¡°Who can you trust?¡±


    ¡°Exactly. And believe you me, trust was already in short supply in my life and line of work, right? But I have to trust somebody, and right now the list starts and ends with myself and Mouse. I would like to expand that list.¡±


    ¡°Given that you accept us vouching for Mouse, I assume you trust us a little¡­¡± Jerl surmised, indicating the secret drain they were in.


    ¡°You¡¯re overestimating yourself. I trust Mouse ¡®cuz he¡¯s my son. If he¡¯d been got, the bastards would¡¯ve got to me too, a long time ago.¡±


    ¡°Oh.¡±


    ¡°But look at this from where I¡¯m standing. A man I¡¯ve never met comes along and somehow knows shit that¡¯s going to happen before it happens, then tells me that Nils Civorage has spoken a Word of Creation, which up until ten minutes ago were just a bedtime story, and then a mage says that men I used to trust are actually magically linked to each other and might not be in control of their own minds and might be passing everything they hear on to somebody else.¡±


    He paused and turned to look at Amir. ¡°Bearing in mind, I¡¯m no kind of a mage myself, so for all I know you¡¯re pulling my rope. But, no offense, you four don¡¯t exactly strike me as the biggest an¡¯ brassiest con artists in all the worlds.¡±


    ¡°Welcome to what today has been like for the rest of us, nay?¡± Sin commented. ¡°He only started knowing all this shit a couple hours ago. And I would have sworn up and down the Words were a human myth.¡±


    ¡°You sure he¡¯s not tryin¡¯ one on?¡± Whisker asked her.


    ¡°I¡¯ve known Jerl since he was a boy. Something big happened to him, something none of us witnessed,¡± Sin looked Jerl in the eye. ¡°I believe him, completely.¡±


    ¡°Hmm.¡± Whisker considered her for a moment, then looked back to Jerl. ¡°...So what did happen?¡±


    Jerl sighed. He felt entirely blind now, not knowing what came next. All he could do now was trust his instincts. And right now, his instincts were telling him that Whisker should know everything.


    ¡°Civorage found and spoke Mind,¡± he said. ¡°I found and spoke Time.¡±


    <hr>


    Whisker kept an apartment in a cistern toward the back of Caverntown, a statement that made it sound far less comfortable and impressive than was actually the case. The cistern was vaulted, its roof held up by elegantly curved stone pillars, and some modifications had been made to ensure the clear, clean water in the middle of the space never rose above knee height.


    Whisker¡¯s furniture was all around the edges on a well-built wooden platform, and spoke of a man rich in both coin and frugality: it was all sturdy, expensive and high-quality, but unostentatious. Furniture to hand down the family line. Rugs and tapestries muffled what would otherwise have been an echoing space, dividers broke it up into neat ¡°rooms¡± and mirrors and magestones filled it with light.


    Honestly, it was one of the nicest homes Jerl had ever set foot in. Whisker obviously valued books, as about half the furniture in the place was bookshelves, and rather than smelling damp, the air had the pleasant aroma of incense, dried herbs and coffee.


    The coffee in question was brewed in hot sand over a large, circular hearth toward the back of the apartment, where they sat on cushions while Jerl told his story again. Whisker was from the Garanese province of Frudlend, to judge by his accent, dress, choice of decor and manner of speech, but apparently when it came to food and drink he¡¯d embraced the Alakbiri lifestyle.


    He listened sombrely, watching Amir, Sin and Derghan as Jerl recounted their deaths again, and scowling in deep thought as he listened to the accounts of the Cronewood ritual, and the battle of the Thundering Hall.


    For Jerl¡­the words came, but he felt afloat above them, like his mouth was doing the talking without his mind. He was beginning to feel quite numb, really. And tired, too.


    In the end, Whisker asked no questions. He simply scratched at his jaw, pointed the four toward a divided-off area in the corner where he kept guest beds, invited them to have the run of the place but asked them not to leave yet, then vanished citing some business he needed to take care of.


    It was getting quite late. Sin turned in early, as did Amir. Jerl had drunk too much coffee to even try, yet, so despite his fatigue and absent anything better to do, he went to peruse Whisker¡¯s library.


    Derghan joined him. It was quite a collection of lore, actually. Jerl wondered how many Whisker had actually read. Somehow, he guessed Whisker was the sort of intense person who might just have read them all.


    Derghan, on the other hand, wasn¡¯t really one for books. After a few minutes of companionable silence, he broached the question which had obviously been his reason for staying close.


    ¡°...Are you alright?¡±


    Jerl paused. ¡°Fine.¡±


    ¡°Really.¡± Derghan sniffed skeptically and sat down. ¡°You must be a tougher man than me then, ¡®cuz if I just saw all my friends die then had to retell the story twice the next day, I¡¯d be a bit of a fuckin¡¯ mess.¡±


    ¡°Well, you¡¯re alive on this time-path. That softens the blow.¡±


    ¡°Still bloody happened though, didn¡¯t it? You still went through it.¡±


    A hot and tight knot tried to form behind Jerl¡¯s eyes and in his heart. With a deep breath and an effort of will, he dispersed it again, then turned and gave Derghan a grateful half-hug, one arm around his friend¡¯s huge shoulders.


    Derghan damn near broke his back in reply. ¡°Yeah. Thought so,¡± he said.


    ¡°I am fine. I promise,¡± Jerl said, and let go. ¡°But¡­shit. You¡¯re right, it¡¯s been a lot.¡±


    ¡°Sounds like it was alright at the end, there. With Talvi. You¡¯ve kinda glossed over what you spoke about with her both times, but you met an actual Crown, skipper. The look on your face when you were talking about it says it musta been¡­¡±


    Jerl sighed. ¡°Yeah.¡±


    He lost himself in memory for a few seconds, then sighed, feeling better for just thinking of his encounter with her. ¡°It was a peaceful moment. And¡­profound. She¡¯s ancient, Derghan. Even without the Word I could feel time on her, like, like¡­like she¡¯d been in a fire and never got the smell out of her clothes. With the Word, I caught a glimpse, just a glimpse, of how long she¡¯s existed and¡­shades take me, I couldn¡¯t stand it!¡±


    Derghan had settled in a chair opposite him as he spoke, and shook his head with an air of mild awe. Now, as Jerl trailed off, it slowly turned into a mischievous grin. ¡°Was she hot?¡±


    Jerl choked back a shocked laugh. ¡°Derg!¡±


    ¡°What?¡± Derghan grinned. ¡°She¡¯s legendary for her beauty! I mean, we say ¡®Winter¡¯s tits,¡¯ right?¡±


    ¡°Still a bit bloody disrespectful, mate!¡± Jerl objected, reflecting that he was probably never going to use that particular line himself ever again.


    ¡°Sure.¡± Derghan¡¯s grin was unrepentant. ¡°But is she, though?¡±


    Jerl couldn¡¯t help but laugh. ¡°In case you¡¯re forgetting, I am the wrong man to ask.¡±


    ¡°Oh, bullshit, you can still judge even if it don¡¯t get your britches twitchin¡¯,¡± Derghan declared confidently.


    Jerl made an affectionately insulting gesture at him in reply. They grinned at each other, then he considered the question. ¡°For me¡­she was more like an aunt, you know? One you¡¯ve never met before, but who your mother¡¯s been writing to all your life so she knows you and loves you anyway.¡±


    Derghan rested his jaw on the heel of his palm and frowned at him. ¡°That¡¯s weirdly specific.¡±


    ¡°It was a strong impression,¡± Jerl shrugged. ¡°She said something to me, just before we parted ways: When I meet Bekhil, I¡¯m to tell her she¡¯s still loved no matter what. That¡¯s the kind of impression she gives off.¡±


    ¡°...Who¡¯s Bekhil?¡±


    ¡°No idea.¡±


    ¡°Huh. More mysteries, I guess.¡± Derghan stretched his shoulders and rolled his neck.


    ¡°Yeah. Anyway. That¡¯s Talvi. Rather cold and distant, and of course she has to be, she¡¯s been alive for¡­fuck, I can¡¯t tell you. I don¡¯t know the words.¡±


    ¡°Thousands of years, right?¡±


    ¡°Not even close. Millions isn¡¯t close. Shit, billions of years may as well be a fraction of a second next to the length of time she¡¯s existed. It¡¯s¡­really fucking disturbing. I don¡¯t know how she can tolerate being that old. And you¡¯d think, someone who existed that long wouldn¡¯t give a shit about tiny little eighty-odd-years-at-most humans, right?¡±


    ¡°I guess,¡± Derghan agreed.


    Jerl shook her head. ¡°Distant or not, she genuinely loves us. She gave me a kiss on the cheek when it was time to part ways, and¡­when I asked her about the Shades, it seemed to break her heart. I tell you, Derghan. The Crowns weren¡¯t that important to me before, but now I¡¯ve met Talvi¡­I dunno.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t tell me you¡¯re gonna start worshippin¡¯ ¡®em?¡±


    ¡°No. Not worship. But I think I¡¯m gonna stop taking them for granted. They deserve to be loved too, I think. At least, Talvi does.¡±


    ¡°You think we¡¯ll meet the others?¡±


    ¡°Wouldn¡¯t surprise me. This thing with me and the Word, it¡¯s their plan. Or¡­sort of.¡±


    Derghan went digging in the pocket where he usually kept some jerky. ¡°What¡¯d¡¯you mean ¡®sort of?¡¯¡±


    ¡°Well, that¡¯s the bit I¡¯m¡­not so fine about,¡± Jerl confessed. ¡°See it¡¯s not so much that the Crowns have a plan, it¡¯s that they¡­Talvi said they used the word to look through time and find the best set of futures and it turns out¡­I¡¯m it. According to her, all the best futures start with me speaking Time, stepping back to this morning, and throwing the word overboard.¡±


    Derghan opened his mouth to say something, then hesitated as the fullness of that idea started to percolate. He shut his mouth again. Frowned. Rubbed the back of his head and popped some jerky in his mouth to chew thoughtfully.


    ¡°...Huh,¡± he said, eventually.


    ¡°Yeah.¡±


    ¡°And Talvi told you that?¡±


    ¡°Yup.¡±


    ¡°...Fuck of a thing to lay on a man, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    ¡°Mhm.¡± Jerl lifted his eyebrows fervently and nodded. ¡°Part of me hopes she was lying. The bigger part hopes it¡¯s just, y¡¯know. Coincidence. I don¡¯t like the idea I¡¯m better than anyone else in the worlds. I¡¯d rather believe it¡¯s just, y¡¯know, I happened to be the one guy who¡¯d be in the right place at the right time.¡±


    ¡°Oh, I can definitely promise you¡¯re not better than everyone else,¡± Derghan flashed a grin.


    ¡°Heh! Thank you.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re not bad, though. One bit of your story I didn¡¯t doubt for a second was the idea that me, Sin, Amir and all the lads would¡¯a followed you all the way.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re merchants, though, not soldiers. The lads in particular are just signed up for a year, and then it¡¯s, do they renew with me, do they jump ship for a captain who¡¯s giving them a better offer, do they take a guild contract¡­?¡± Jerl shook his head and shrugged. ¡°And y¡¯know, I¡¯m grateful to have you as a friend, and Amir. But neither of you signed up for taking on something like this.¡±


    Derghan shrugged. ¡°¡®A St¨®rsteinner without a clan is a corpse looking for his grave.¡¯¡±


    ¡°Huh?¡±


    ¡°They used to say that back where I¡¯m from. When I signed on with you I thought maybe it¡¯d be a couple of years then I¡¯d find a nice lass in a port town somewhere, use my savings to settle down, build a future of some kind. Then¡­¡± he glanced toward the sleeping area, where Sin was sprawled gracelessly on her back and snoring softly. A fond smile crept up one side of his face, tinged with melancholy. ¡°Then I guess I gave up on that idea. But everyone needs a future, Jerl.¡±


    ¡°So this is yours?¡±


    Derghan nodded, evenly. ¡°¡®Wise men lay down wine they will never drink,¡¯¡± he said.


    ¡°Oh, you¡¯re full of quotes tonight.¡± Jerl shook his head, amused. ¡°But¡­so long as you¡¯re in this thing willingly.¡±


    ¡°Jerl, if I¡¯m ever not, you¡¯ll hear it from me direct. Fair?¡±


    ¡°More than.¡± Jerl stood and stretched until his spine crunched. ¡°We should sleep.¡±


    Derghan shook his head. ¡°Think I¡¯ll stay up a bit. I like Whisker already, get a nice impression off the guy. But let¡¯s not forget what he is, aye? Rather keep my eyes open for now.¡±


    ¡°Suit yourself,¡± Jerl agreed. ¡°I¡¯m not worried.¡±


    ¡°Oh, I see. Seen the future, have you?¡±


    ¡°Not exactly. G¡¯night, Derg.¡±


    ¡°Night.¡±


    Jerl patted him on the shoulder, and retired to a bed that was a fair bit wider and softer than the one he slept in aboard the Queen. For a man who literally lived in a sewer, Whisker had it good.


    And Mouse, too, if he was Whisker¡¯s son. You had to squint hard to see the resemblance: Whisker was square-jawed, brick-built and hirsute, whereas Mouse was¡­not. In any regard. So much so that if it wasn¡¯t for them both having the same blue eyes and unruly blond hair, Jerl would have wondered if it was an adoptive relationship, rather than blood.


    Maybe it was. But that was none of his business, he supposed. He settled his head back, closed his eyes, and didn¡¯t even need to try and sleep: it took him readily.


    If only his dreams weren¡¯t so restless¡­


    <hr>


    <h2>Interlude: Auldenheigh</h2>


    Capitol of the Garanhir Baronies, Enerlend, Garanhir Earthmote, the World-Sphere of E?rrach 09.05.15.06.02


    ¡°Shaken, you say?¡±


    ¡°Badly. She seemed to find the experience¡­persuasive.¡±


    Ellaenie, duchess of Enerlend, scowled thoughtfully and looked out the window to think. Not that there was much point, it being an eclipse day. All she could see was the reflection of the very study she sat in, and beyond it the city lights as Auldenheigh sat out another long day of waiting for the shades to go away.


    No doubt there¡¯d be a report the day after tomorrow of how many had been taken. There were always one or two. Drunks and junkies mostly, too far gone to remember to light their lantern stones when they went to bed, sometimes a Sayfi who¡¯d never learned proper light discipline.


    Or, in one notable case two years previously, murder by deliberate negligence on the part of a servant, which had left Ellaenie an orphan and a duchess before her time. Fifteen had been far too young an age to take on the responsibility, but, well¡­here she was. Hopefully she was doing well.


    Not everyone stayed indoors on eclipse days, though. As a duchess, she had spies and they seemed to treat eclipse as no worse than a light rain. Which was why her spymaster, Lord Gilber Drevin, was sitting on the couch opposite her, to deliver a briefing that Ellaenie hadn¡¯t expected to receive until tomorrow.


    ¡°Miribel is one of your best, isn¡¯t she?¡±


    Drevin, tilted his head awkwardly and sipped his tea. ¡°At this point, I think it may be that she was one of my best. She¡¯s very changed, your grace. It¡¯s subtle, but it makes the hair stand up on my neck. I don¡¯t trust her any longer.¡±


    Ellaenie nodded, grimly. She¡¯d relied on Drevin¡¯s instincts from the very first day, used them to bring her parents¡¯ killer to justice. If he said Miribel was no longer reliable, then she wasn¡¯t. But that in itself was deeply concerning.


    ¡°She only attended one circle meeting.¡±


    ¡°Indeed. But the experience she describes in her report is¡­¡± Drevin paused, and cleared his throat. ¡°Despite her best efforts to use professional language, it¡¯s clear she thought it was wonderful. Transformative, even. I think she¡¯s been converted.¡±


    ¡°That quickly? That easily?¡±


    ¡°Read between the lines, your grace. Miribel is¡ªwas¡ªone of my prodigies. She¡¯s a knack for spy work, and would have been deep in my confidence and yours in the fullness of time. She¡¯s not prone to flights of fancy, oh no. She¡¯s a methodical, thorough, critical thinker.¡±


    Ellaenie considered what that meant. ¡°...Yet there¡¯s no mention of any medicament use.¡±


    ¡°No, your grace. No seer¡¯s mushroom, no vision sage, no song cactus, nothing. Nothing ingested or inhaled at all. It was an entirely sober occasion, and yet, Miribel¡¯s report suggests she entered quite a profound trance.¡±


    Ellaenie considered that. Her magical education had stalled somewhat these last couple of years, but she¡¯d still studied the art quite a bit. ¡°Magical influence, perhaps? Some kind of hypnosis or mesmerism?¡±


    ¡°That was my concern. Which is why I¡¯ve taken the liberty of drafting a letter to an old friend, over in Crae Vhannog. Somebody I know hasn¡¯t been anywhere near these Oneists or their preaching, yet.¡±


    ¡°A fresh set of eyes,¡± Ellaenie nodded her understanding.


    ¡°More importantly, a mage of considerable learning and knowledge.¡±


    ¡°A Navigator?¡±


    ¡°Oh, no. No, staunchly independent¡­¡±


    ¡°I see,¡± Ellaenie smiled as a picture formed in her mind. ¡°You mean they don¡¯t tolerate the strictures of an organization for long.¡±


    Drevin¡¯s only reply was a tiny sideways tilt of the head and an equally microscopic twitch of one eyebrow. ¡°If I may ask, your grace¡­?¡±


    Ellaenie made a small gesture, inviting him to continue.


    ¡°Up until today, we have had no reason to believe these ¡®Oneists¡¯ were anything more than just a new faith. Rather a disrespectful one toward the Crowns, perhaps, but that is hardly a crime. As your spymaster it is of course my duty to be fully apprised of the goings-on in the city and Enerlend, but may I ask why you are so interested in them?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know, exactly,¡± Ellaenie confessed. ¡°I simply had the most profound sense of dread from the instant I first heard of them. I can¡¯t explain it, but it was like an eclipse bell rang in my head. It was quite unnerving, really.¡±


    Drevin made a small ¡°hmm¡± noise, and finished his tea. ¡°With your permission then, your grace, I will increase our surveillance. But I would prefer not to send any more of our people to the circle meetings, at least until my friend arrives.¡±


    ¡°As you see fit, Lord Drevin.¡± Ellaenie rose to her feet, and he followed her. ¡°Thank you. Please, do be safe. You are more than welcome to use the guest rooms here rather than risk the eclipse.¡±


    Drevin checked his pocket watch, then nodded. ¡°I think I shall take you up on that, your grace. No sense in risking the dark when only two hours remain.¡±


    Ellaeni favored him with a smile, accepted his bow, and watched him from the room.


    A moment of solitude was a rare luxury in a duchess¡¯ life. And, in Ellaeni¡¯s experience, happened most often on eclipse days, so she couldn¡¯t even enjoy a quiet stroll around the gardens. She was feeling sun-starved now, cooped up. Brightly lit though her palace might be, it was no substitute for fresh air and daylight.


    Oh well. She turned her attention to the two game boards by her study window. One held the current state of play between herself and Duke Maksivar of Betlend, and she was using the other to plan her next move, see what developments may follow. She had a nasty feeling Maks was going to win again.


    A glance at the game board, a few listless exploratory developments, and she realized her heart wasn¡¯t really in it, today. These Oneists plagued her, left a horrible feeling creeping down her spine that she simply couldn¡¯t ignore.


    Perhaps the magical angle bore further study. Perhaps¡­she had an entirely unduchesslike moment of girlish excitement, then laughed at herself., Of course she¡¯d want to investigate personally!


    But¡­Magic!


    How anybody could ever find it uninteresting was a mystery to Ellaeni. She¡¯d set aside her arcane studies these last few years: between the investigation into her parents¡¯ murders and having to dive into her new position and learn her duties, she¡¯d reluctantly had to give up on the idea of attending the Orrery or the Thundering Hall for study. Now a puzzle arose possibly involving magic, and perhaps the arrival of a new expert she could learn from¡­


    She had to remind herself to stride rather than trot eagerly through the palace halls. She hadn¡¯t visited her workshop in¡­in¡­


    Too long.


    It was in the right sort of place for magical studies: Up in one of the fancy turrets her great-great grandfather, Duke Gorin, had installed for his own son¡¯s magical education. And it was exactly as she¡¯d left it. Oh, the servants had dusted and swept and kept it in good order, so the heavy iron-bound oak door swung aside with nary a whisper thanks to fresh oil. But when she grinned and finally allowed herself to bounce over to the desk, she found the book she¡¯d been reading¡ªPrinciples of the Immaterial, vol.1¡ªhad been closed to protect the pages from damp, dust and light, but had been thoughtfully bookmarked.


    She opened it, and right away remembered the exact paragraph she¡¯d last read even as her eyes flicked to it.


    When discussing infusive evocation (more generally known as ¡°enchantment¡±) one of the first key difficulties the novice will encounter is the liminality dilemma. That is, the question of what exactly constitutes an ¡°object¡± or ¡°thing¡± to be enchanted and how does one accurately distinguish one object from another for the purposes of infusing either?


    While it is straightforward to consider a magestone as a singular object, the most commonly practiced field of magic in the worlds after evocation is rejuvemancy, or ¡°healing.¡± When a rejuvemancer applies magic to ¡°heal a wound,¡± is it the wound that is the object of their effort, or the patient¡¯s entire body? Can a wound indeed be accurately conceptualized as an object at all? If it can, is it meaningfully separate from the body on which it has been inflicted? What of an internal organ, which cannot be removed without grievously wounding or killing the body, but which will yet remain a heart, or liver, as the case may be, after removal?


    There are four answers to these questions: the semantic, the ontological, the epistemological, and the holistic. In this chapter we shall explore these four answers below, and show why they are all of utility to the practitioner.


    ¡°Oh, Crowns. Dryer than the paper it¡¯s printed on¡­¡± Ellaenie shook her head, closed the book again, and looked around to take in the rest of the space.


    Her magestone collection filled a floor-to-ceiling set of shelves behind the desk. Raw gemstones, because of course she¡¯d been a young noble girl obsessed with wealth and status. When she reached out and touched the geode she remembered as being her favorite, she felt the tingle of power at her fingertips: still charged.


    There was the small fireplace, present equally for heating the room and providing a source of energy she could tap and store. There was the large semicircular table laden with various practice objects¡­and another book, Practical Spells for the Beginner.


    She opened it to a random page. Considered the magical annotation within in much the same way as if she¡¯d just sat down at the piano (another skill she¡¯d been forced to neglect these last couple of years) and opened a tricky concerto. Familiar. Readable, even. But nevertheless daunting.


    She picked one of the lighter practice weights out of its rack, set it down, held out her hand and concentrated. No need for a magestone for this¡­


    Energy, from within. The same energy that moved her limbs and kept her heart beating could be tapped, transformed by the will, and used to do other work, create localized exemptions in the workings of reality. For instance: the sun emitted a force known as gravity, which pushed everything away from it until an earthmote got in the way. The earthmotes themselves were exempted from gravity by a complicated standing magical field, which too was powered by the sun.


    The point was¡­ (she gritted her teeth) with the right¡­application of energy¡­.


    The weight rattled, then shot up off the tabletop. Ellaenie squeaked and stopped concentrating, ducked as it bounced off the ceiling, then giggled nervously as it bounced and rolled across the floor. Success! Far less controlled than she¡¯d once been able to manage, but the mere act of doing restored her memory and confidence. She knew what she¡¯d done wrong.


    She reached out with a gesture, and this time she called the weight into the palm of her hand with a beckoning gesture and the merest flick of her will. Another gesture and it wove a complex spiral around her head and arm, then back safely into the rack on the bench.


    Magic.


    She sobered. She wasn¡¯t here for her own amusement. She was here because somebody out there might be practicing a dark and dangerous kind of magic, and she needed to be armed against it.


    She took a deep breath, grabbed a magestone, and returned to her practice. She had a lot of catching up to do¡­


    <hr>


    <blockquote>


    "Twenty days is a cycle: Twenty cycles is a year: Twenty years is an era: Twenty eras is an age. The date format is Age.Era.Year.Cycle.Day. Twenty ages (eight thousand years) would be an epoch. Although we are now almost halfway through the second epoch, the epoch is generally omitted from the dateline for brevity. The calendar was first invented by His Perfection the ascended Huzukei Emperor, and was accurately zeroed to the Day Of Creation through cross-reference with other historical calendars, including that of the ancient Ordfey. It has now become the standard calendar of the Yunei Empire, the Navigators¡¯ Observatory and of airshipmen, but other nations and cultures among the worlds have been slow or reluctant to adopt it. The navigator¡¯s almanac therefore includes translation tables for regional calendars." ¡ªNavigational Fundamentals, Hua Min-Pok


    </blockquote>


    <h2>Long Drop City</h2>


    Alakbir Earthmote, the World-Sphere of Sayf 09.06.03.06.04


    Jerl woke to the sounds of conversation and snoring.


    The snores were Derghan¡¯s, for certain. Flat on his back and rumbling softly, which made Jerl wonder just how long he¡¯d stayed up after Jerl had gone to bed.


    The conversation was Sin and Amir.


    ¡°¡ªjust makes me wonder how much else about the worlds I thought I knew for certain that¡¯s turned out to be dead wrong, nay?¡±


    ¡°Understandable.¡± By the smell of it, Amir had brewed more of the coffee. ¡°From an academic perspective, this is beyond fascinating, you understand. Not to mention controversial.¡±


    ¡°Why controversial?¡±


    ¡°About thirty years ago, a navigator by the name of Edwin Caefeler proposed a radical theory of magic. He was¡­rather too zealous in its defense. Said some undiplomatic things to the faculty.¡±


    ¡°Crowns forget me, a mage with the social grace of a sledgehammer? Who would have thought?¡±


    Amir laughed. ¡°Oh, he was worse than most¡­he proposed that the Words are not only real, but that they are the foundation on which magic is built. Apparently he spent a long time in conversation with The Shishah, who told him all about it.¡±


    ¡°...He based his opinion on the words of a Herald known for treating pranks, lies and mischief as his reason to exist.¡± Sin¡¯s flat tone made her thoughts quite clear..


    ¡°Now you know why his theories were so widely rejected.¡±


    Jerl sat up and stretched pleasantly. ¡±But what a prank it would be if The Shishah decided to tell the truth, knowing nobody would believe him¡­¡± he pointed out, as he stood to join them. ¡°Morning!¡±


    ¡°Morning.¡± Sin indicated the hearth, where a plate with some pastries on it was staying warm. ¡°Delivery came by while you were asleep. They¡¯re pretty good! And there¡¯s a hot bath waiting through those curtains over there. Whisker knows how to treat a guest right, nay?¡±


    ¡°No sign of the man himself yet?¡±


    ¡°None.¡± Sin lowered her voice. ¡°You do trust him?¡±


    ¡°Not entirely.¡± Jerl sampled one of the pastries. It tasted deliciously of cinnamon and honey. ¡°But, our list of allies has to start with somebody.¡±


    ¡°And if he were to rush in here right now with, say, twenty armed men and Nils Civorage?¡± Amir asked.


    ¡°Then I guess I¡¯d be back to yesterday morning and in need of a new plan.¡±


    ¡°And we¡¯d be dead,¡± Sin pointed out.


    ¡°That bothers you?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s¡­important.¡± Sin scratched at one of her scars. ¡°Chal-an-chal.¡±


    ¡°...Are you asking if what you did in the Cronewood counts as a life for a life?¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t do anything in the Cronewood. That was¡­a story of me. A version of me that now isn¡¯t going to ever exist.¡± She paused, then scowled. ¡°Shit. I think I just answered my own question, nay?¡±


    ¡°Might be,¡± Jerl shrugged. ¡°The way I see it, it¡¯s your oath, your ideal, whatever it is. You¡¯re the one who decides if you¡¯re satisfied or not.¡±


    ¡°I suppose I¡¯m not. And it¡¯s not like I¡­you know what? Never mind.¡± Sin sat back and shook her head. ¡°It¡¯s not important.¡±


    ¡°What is this whole chal-an-chal thing, anyway?¡± Amir asked. ¡°A life for a life? Is it service to Jerl specifically, or more general, or¡ª?¡±


    His questions were interrupted by the door opening. Whisker, Mouse, and three more figures Jerl didn¡¯t recognize entered, All five looked completely dead on their feet from lack of sleep. Whisker waved his companions over toward the beds, and slumped down at the table, alongside Mouse.


    ¡°Well. I¡¯ve just had a fucker of a night,¡± he reported. ¡°Hope you slept well, ¡®cuz I bloody didn¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°May I ask what you were, uh¡ª?¡± Jerl began. Whisker shrugged.


    ¡°Investigating,¡± he said. ¡°Talking to people. Following the details. Learning new ones. I¡¯ve found out who our friend from the warehouse is. And you¡¯re gonna laugh when I tell you.¡±


    ¡°Well, don¡¯t keep us in suspense¡­¡± Amir said.


    ¡°Oh, I¡¯m going to. Gonna savor this one. So first, a question. This magic Civorage has got woven around our friends. You¡¯re certain it can¡¯t be broken?¡± He looked Amir in the eye.


    Amir shook his head. ¡°Not by me. I shouldn¡¯t like to even try.¡±


    ¡°By anybody?¡±


    ¡°It would be incredibly dangerous, and I can¡¯t imagine any mortal mage would be foolhardy enough to attempt it. The Crowns themselves could break it, obviously. Probably the Heralds, too. But¡­¡±


    ¡°What about if we got you the Word?¡± Mouse asked.


    There was a moment of confused silence, broken by Amir making a small choking noise. He cleared his throat and regathered himself. ¡°That¡¯s¡­an audacious suggestion.¡±


    ¡°Would it work?¡± Mouse insisted.


    ¡°Uh. I suppose. Probably. I imagine. Yes.¡±


    ¡°Good.¡± Whisker sighed heavily and leaned back in his chair, rubbing his face. A sleepless night, bad news and some considerable amount of stress had lent a few extra years to his face, Jerl thought.


    ¡°You¡¯re not serious, are you?¡± Jerl asked. ¡°You¡¯re talking about taking it from Civorage?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t think you really appreciate the magnitude of the problem you just peeled open and presented to me,¡± Whisker replied. He yawned, shook his head, then sat up straighter. ¡°It¡¯s not just those boys from the warehouse. It¡¯s half the Street Rats at this point. Every last one of our gutter-rats who¡¯ve ever gone to a Circle meeting so they could grab a bowl from the Oneists¡¯ soup kitchen. The big rats like us, the ones who¡¯d already made it in this business, we¡¯re cynical buggers. Not much inclined to go sing and chant, never empty-bellied enough to need it. But all the little guys, the starving kids who¡¯re just starting out? We got our own mage in, somebody I trust¡ª¡±


    ¡°How do you know you can trust them?¡± Jerl asked.


    ¡°Well that¡¯s my fuckin¡¯ business, ain¡¯t it?¡± Whisker growled. ¡°Anyway. Our friend did the thing your navigator here did. And¡­the Rats are compromised. Right down to street level. And that is not gonna fuckin¡¯ fly, not on my watch. Because if what you said and what my friend said is right, then whatever those Rats know, the Oneists know. And secrets are our business, you understand? If we can¡¯t keep ¡®em tightly barrelled up, they spoil like clams.¡±


    He reached over and grabbed a breakfast pastry. ¡°An¡¯ what that means is, you came along at the perfect moment. If this had gone on much longer, the Rats would be completely in that fuckin¡¯ cult¡¯s pockets, and we¡¯d like as not have been throat-cut sometime soon. So, it¡¯s do or die time for the Street Rats. We either do somethin¡¯ Crowns-damned crazy to try and wriggle out of this trap, or we go limp and let it snap on us.¡±


    ¡°And hey, if it saves all the worlds in the process¡­¡± Mouse added, wryly.


    ¡°How philanthropic of you,¡± Sin snarked. ¡°But, save the world, save yourself, nay?¡±


    ¡°Pretty much!¡±


    ¡°So you¡¯re going to try and steal Mind from Civorage,¡± Jerl repeated.


    Whisker nodded around a mouthful of pastry. ¡°Yup.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯ll be his most prized possession.¡±


    ¡°Yup.¡±


    ¡°And it grants him the power to dominate the will of others at a glance.¡±


    ¡°Apparently.¡±


    ¡°...You¡¯d better have a damn good plan.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, well.¡± Whisker brushed crumbs out of his beard and sat forward. A small, pleased smile creased the corners of his eyes for the first time in their conversation. ¡°We¡¯re not going into this totally unprepared. We know a few things you don¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°For example?¡± Amir asked.


    ¡°Well, like I said. The identity of our bearded friend from the warehouse. And I reckon with his help, we¡¯ll be able to crack Civorage¡¯s manor right open.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡± Jerl asked. ¡°Who is he?¡±


    Whisker¡¯s grin got even wider, and he picked up a second pastry.


    ¡°His name,¡± he said, ¡°is Jac Deragian.¡±

 Chapter 5: Best Laid Plans

    <blockquote>


    ¡°Exactly how many Heralds there are is unclear. Of the ones known to me, arguably the strangest is Dragon: though she may sometimes choose to fly awhile alongside an airship, undulating through the clouds like a colossal golden serpent, she has rarely been known to pause and converse with mortals. Nevertheless, whispers abound that she likes to take human form and human lovers, and this is how her progeny the drakes are fathered.¡±


    ¡ªAnoloa Nwodike, The Heralds


    </blockquote>


    <h2>The Drains, Long Drop City</h2>


    Alakbir Earthmote, the World-Sphere of Sayf


    09.06.03.06.04


    Long Drop City had not always been known by that name, Jerl learned. He¡¯d never really thought about it before, but it seemed obvious in hindsight that such a thriving town had to be more than just a handful of years old. The Clear Skies Guild had only boomed into prominence within the last ten years, but Long Drop was big enough, populous enough and old enough to have hidden secrets.


    Apparently, its name up until eight years ago had been Kah-afat Barid an-Naharq, ¡°Cool Edge Cave On The River,¡± and it had largely been a backwater with little to offer except shelter from the dry heat and sandstorms, to which Alakbiri were well accustomed anyway.


    The coming of airships had changed that. A cool refuge right on the edge cliffs was perfect for welcoming foreign airship crews from lower and colder climes, and the guilds had invested heavily, transforming the town from a sleepy backwater to a thriving port over about twenty years.


    Then the Clear Skies had exploded in wealth and power following Nils Civorage¡¯s beacon mine venture, and the Sharif of Ajhabra, already a guild part-owner and investor, had formally granted the guild ownership of all the town and the land on (and in) which it was built. They¡¯d renamed it to Long Drop City, many of the Alakbiri natives had moved out as wealthy foreign merchants moved in¡­


    And somewhere in all that mess, large parts of the city¡¯s infrastructure had simply been forgotten about. Or, Jerl suspected, had been quietly and surgically excised from the records by the opportunistic Street Rats.


    Certainly that would explain how they were able to keep this secret meeting place, in a natural cave beneath the Underside district. Jerl had never been so deep underground before, but it didn¡¯t feel oppressive. The cave had a washed feel to it, decorated in places with short stubby spikes of smooth, rippled stone, to the point where it felt more like a marble hall than a thief¡¯s secret bolthole.


    The tapestries, rugs and nice furniture helped too, of course. The Rats were rich, and not afraid to spend their wealth on nice things.


    Whisker, it turned out, was one of an inner circle of three, and his counterparts watched Jerl and company with interest as they were shown in and welcomed to the table.


    The first to speak was a Yunei woman, four foot tall and standing on a stool. The dwarf people¡¯s earthmote and culture were very much closed to foreigners, which was why she bore the exact same mark as every other Yunei Jerl had ever met: her people¡¯s rune for ¡®Exile¡¯ burned painfully into her forehead with a branding iron.


    ¡°Pretty handsome, at least,¡± she commented, and stuck out a hand. ¡°Name¡¯s Ju-Wi.¡±


    Jerl shook her hand. ¡°Jerl.¡±


    She gave him a lecherous grin as he did so. ¡°You ever had a dwarf before, Jerl? A strapping boy like you, we could have lots of fun¡­¡±


    Jerl laughed, in no small part to cover for shock. He¡¯d never in his life been propositioned so instantly and outrageously, nor by somebody so much older than him. ¡°Ah! Uh, no offense but, uh¡­my bag¡¯s rigged different.¡±


    ¡°Oh! Shame.¡± She tutted in an ¡®easy-come-easy-go¡¯ kind of way, then looked to Mouse. ¡°One for you then, kid.¡±


    Mouse just smirked, clearly used to her antics. ¡°Maybe later,¡± he said, and gave Jerl an amused look. ¡°Business before pleasure, right?¡±


    ¡°Hah!¡±


    The Prathar man standing opposite her with the rather spectacular handlebar mustache cleared his throat. ¡°Mind on the job, Ju-Wi¡­¡± he said, then shook Jerl¡¯s hand and indicated a spot at the table alongside him. ¡°I go by ¡®Imdura.¡¯ Whisker had quite a story to tell of you.¡±


    ¡°How much of it do you believe?¡± Jerl asked, taking the offered spot. The others piled in around the table as well.


    ¡°As it happens, most of it. Like your friend here, I am a trained navigator and mage.¡± Imdura gave Amir a respectful nod, colleague to colleague. ¡°I was able to confirm this¡­influence on our people for myself. I would tend to dismiss the Words of Creation as a fable, but¡­¡± Imdura wobbled his head, uneasily. ¡°What I have seen is not¡­easily attributable to the powers of an ordinary mortal man. Let alone one not known to be versed in magical study.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s Imdura¡¯s way of saying yes, he believes you,¡± Whisker translated, chewing on some tobacco. ¡°And what that in turn means is that the circle of trust in this matter consists entirely of the folks around this table.¡±


    ¡°So what¡¯s the plan?¡± Jerl asked.


    ¡°The plan revolves around this link the affected share. Imdura?¡±


    The well-dressed Prathar nodded, and unrolled a map across the table. ¡°Right now, we know Nils Civorage is in the city. Given that he believes Captain Holten has something he wants, he will not leave. Fortunately, the same power he has used to spy on us can in turn be used to feed him a false idea. He doubtless knows you have made contact with us, Captain. We can use that.¡±


    ¡°Go on¡­¡± Jerl nodded, listening.


    ¡°One of the oldest tricks in the book!¡± Imdura grinned. ¡°Right now, Jac Deragian is right there in one of our guest rooms, right? He doesn¡¯t know where it is. But Civorage knows we¡¯ve caught one of his lieutenants. So right now, he¡¯s likely taking us very seriously and planning to break Deragian out, right? But all he has to do is, find some of our people who¡¯re under his spell and who know where Deragian is, and direct them to break him out.¡±


    ¡°I think I see where this is going,¡± Sin perked up and leaned over the table. ¡°You¡¯re gonna let Deragian go, and through him you¡¯ll leak that you snuck Jerl and the box out of town on one of your own airships, nay?¡±


    ¡°Oh, you got a mind even sharper than your ears!¡± Ju Wi grinned.


    ¡°And with Deragian back, Civorage will jump on the Make Your Own Fortune and take off after the ship Jerl¡¯s supposedly on,¡± Sin continued.


    ¡°Yup!¡±


    ¡°Please tell me the next step is, we burn his bag and let the fucker crash?¡±


    ¡°Ah!¡± Ju-wi sucked air through her gappy, stained teeth and shook her head ruefully. ¡°That we can¡¯t do. Too much trouble. You don¡¯t murder a man like him and just get away easy.¡±


    ¡°And we don¡¯t have a ship that could take the Fortune in a fight, either,¡± Whisker added.


    ¡°Besides, it wouldn¡¯t work,¡± Jerl said, grimly. They all turned to frown at him. ¡°Civorage has had ten years to get to know Mind and practice with the powers he got from it. When I spoke with Talvi, she said even death isn¡¯t enough now. So long as he has thralls under his power, he can just¡­migrate into them. Kinda like an elf, but instead of being born and inheriting a new body, he¡¯d just hollow out an existing one and take over.¡±


    Ju-wi looked genuinely appalled. ¡°Fuck me upside-down!¡±


    ¡°Crowns. Of all the unbelievable shit you¡¯ve said, that one wins the fuckin¡¯ prize,¡± Mouse agreed.


    Jerl shrugged. ¡°From the Crown¡¯s mouth herself,¡± he said.


    ¡°Disturbing though it may be, it doesn¡¯t change the plan,¡± Whisker pointed out. ¡°Plan is to get him out of the mansion, and while he¡¯s away we get in there and lift Mind from his inner sanctum.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re sure it¡¯s there?¡± Imdura asked.


    ¡°It is,¡± Jerl predicted, confidently. On that point, the premonitions he¡¯d allowed himself to keep were perfectly clear.


    ¡°He doesn¡¯t carry it on his person?¡± Derghan asked. ¡°Won¡¯t take it with him?¡±


    ¡°He doesn¡¯t need to. And he thinks it¡¯ll be safer at his manor behind guards and lock than with him out in the field where he might drop it or have it lifted from his pocket.¡±


    ¡°Normally he¡¯d be right,¡± Whisker said.


    ¡°Besides. he didn¡¯t have it with him last time. And seeing as we seem to be basing this plan on what he did last time¡ª¡±


    Whisker shrugged. ¡°That¡¯s the best guide we¡¯ve got to go on. As for the manor itself, it may as well be a bloody fortress. High walls, with them decorative but still bloody sharp wrought iron spikes along the top, guards patrolling the grounds, well lit, lots of people inside, and it¡¯s not like they¡¯ll just roll out a carpet if we walk up to the front door. Fortunately¡­¡±


    He reached out and tapped Imdura¡¯s map. ¡°There¡¯s an aqueduct. Underground. Clean water, right from the cisterns. That¡¯s our way in.¡±


    Jerl blinked, and bent forward to inspect it, as did his crew. There was a long, thoughtful silence, which Derghan was the first to speak into.


    ¡°That¡­does not exactly look roomy.¡±


    ¡°Oh, it looks even better than it is. It¡¯s half full of cold water,¡± Mouse had a certain sadism in the smile he flashed Derghan¡¯s way. ¡°And if anyone drowns, we¡¯ve got to push their carcass all the way to the end.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re a real fuckin¡¯ salesman, you know that? Bet you could sell sand to the Sharif.¡±


    Mouse just smirked. ¡°But here¡¯s the thing, the Rats have done this a hundred times. Every big compound in this town has one of these. Trick is to float on your back and let the current carry you. Trust me, it¡¯s the best way in.¡±


    ¡°And out?¡± Sin asked.


    ¡°Lot easier to get out of a walled compound than in,¡± Whisker pointed out. ¡°Especially when you¡¯ve an elf with you who can jump clean over it with a rope.¡±


    Sin studied the wall on the map for a second, then nodded. ¡°I see. And, the guards inside?¡±


    ¡°Poor innocent bastards under Civorage¡¯s thrall,¡± Imdura said, solemnly. ¡°But they will kill us if they can. Under such circumstances, if we must kill them to live, I believe we can lay their deaths firmly at Civorage¡¯s feet, yes?¡±


    Nobody nodded. That wasn¡¯t a happy or comforting thought he¡¯d just expressed. But it was the truth nonetheless.


    ¡°Fact is, it¡¯s best for us to be quiet and dark for as long as possible,¡± Whisker said. ¡°Longer we go unnoticed and unbloodied, the longer it is before Civorage realizes we hoodwinked him and turns his attention back our way. And while I¡¯m not planning to do this thing until he¡¯s too far away to get back in time, who knows what other crazy shit this Word of his lets him pull.¡±


    He looked around the table. ¡°But unless we¡¯re willing to go sharp, this can¡¯t be done. So are we doing it?¡±


    Ju-Wi was the first to nod, followed by Mouse and finally Imdura. Jerl glanced at his friends. He knew Sin¡¯s reply, she¡¯d go wherever he went and do what he decided to do. The same was true for Derghan. Amir, though¡­


    Amir caught his eyes and nodded, very slightly, just once.


    Jerl exhaled slightly, then looked back to Whisker.


    ¡°We¡¯re doing it,¡± he said.


    <hr>


    <h2>Interlude: Ducal Palace, Auldenheigh</h2>


    Capitol of the Garanhir Baronies, Enerlend, Garanhir Earthmote, the World-Sphere of E?rrach


    09.05.15.11.11


    Anywhere else in the worlds, Ellaenie would have been a queen. Truth be told, she was a queen in all but name, and the title ¡°duchess¡± represented a longstanding mutual arrangement between what had once been the united Garanese kingdoms of Enerlend, Cantre, Oderlend, Betlend, Frudlend, Urstlend and Valai.


    The similarities in most of their names pointed to their shared heritage¡­ and the fact two of them were still named in elvish pointed to their differences. The Garenese had overcome their Ordfey overlords, renamed Vathelan to Auldenheigh, and then largely forgotten the old elfish evils in favor of infighting, tribalism and wars that had lasted for thousands of years. One of the sturdiest shelves in Ellaenie¡¯s library was bowed under the weight of heavy tomes detailing endless royal feuds, intrigues, claims to thrones, wars, murders, marriages and more.


    A single king had unified the Garenese, five hundred years ago. Three hundred years ago, his dynasty had come to an end thanks to the ravages of tuberculosis¡­and the dukes had done the only sensible thing they could.


    They fought like maddened cats.


    When that failed to work¡ªwhen it became apparent to all that none of them could press the advantage against any of their rivals and win the throne without provoking all the others to gang up on them¡ªthey had finally sat down to talk. And they¡¯d come to a compromise solution


    All of which was why the crown of Garanhir was ceremonially placed on a cushion on an empty throne once a year, to open the annual meeting of the Dukesmoot.


    At least, being the duchess of Enerlend, Ellaenie had the royal palace practically on her doorstep, so there was no need to make preparations for long travel and accommodations in another barony. They came to her, and so long as her staff did their jobs correctly they would be well cared-for.


    Still, she was taking the Dukesmoot very seriously this time. Even if it was still three months away, she needed ammunition if she was going to prove the Oneists were up to something sinister.


    Or, she reminded herself trying to be fair and even-handed, evidence that they weren¡¯t and she was wrong about them. But that didn¡¯t seem likely. Not likely at all.


    Not now one of her best spies had simply¡­vanished.


    No, Ellaenie¡¯s responsibilities were heavy, and not least of them was getting dressed to receive foreign visitors.


    Her Lady-in-waiting, Lady Lisze Bledel, finished tying her corset and stepped back. ¡°How¡¯s that?¡±


    Ellaenie shifted and wriggled a bit, testing the fit, and decided she felt comfortably supported. ¡°Oh, that¡¯s so much better than the last one!¡±


    ¡°I thought it would be.¡± Lisze gave her a satisfied not and started tying on the pocket bags and panniers. ¡°Now, I thought the Frudlend fern brocade in your house colors?¡±


    ¡°A little tame, isn¡¯t it? We¡¯re welcoming a thaighn, I¡¯d like to defy her expectations of me a little¡­hint at my magical studies.¡±


    ¡°How about the Dragonschild pattern, then?¡±


    ¡°I do prefer that one.¡± Ellaenie nodded and shimmied a bit to make sure everything was settled properly while Lisze vanished to get the rest of the outfit. ¡°Speaking of the thaighn, do we have the etiquette figured out yet?¡±


    That question was addressed at her good friend and other Lady-In-Waiting, Countess Adrey Mossjoy, who was sitting patiently at the desk with rather a large book on diplomatic forms. Ellaenie knew from reading it herself some years ago (a stultifying experience, especially for a thirteen-year-old) that a good half its pages were just for the Yunei. The Craenen, by comparison, had a reputation for being refreshingly straightforward.


    Adrey chuckled. ¡°By convention, she¡¯s your peer,¡± she said. ¡°A mutual ¡®your grace¡¯ and shallow curtsey¡ªshe¡¯ll probably bow, the Craenen don¡¯t do curtseying I gather¡ªand after that you¡¯ll call her Thaighn and she¡¯ll call you Duchess. She¡¯ll probably invite you to call her by name rather quickly, so remember, her name is pronounced ¡®sur-shuh.¡¯¡±


    ¡°Will she object if I insist on using titles?¡±


    ¡°Hmmm...¡± Adrey checked the book, then shook her head. ¡°Not object, no, but she¡¯d probably decide you¡¯re stuffy and overly formal. I¡¯d just accept it, really.¡±


    Ellaenie nodded thoughtfully and smoothed out her petticoats, fidgeting.


    I¡¯m nervous, she realized. It was absurd.


    ¡°You¡¯re nervous,¡± Adrey commented. ¡°What¡¯s got you like this? She¡¯s just a foreign dignitary, you¡¯ve welcomed dozens.¡±


    ¡°None of them were a Craenen witch-thaign.¡± Ellaenie raised her arms obediently as Lisze returned with her skirt, and wriggled through it. ¡°You know what they say of her, don¡¯t you? They say Saoirse Crow-Sight can cast her gaze through time and space to see the hidden and the lost. They say she can read your mind at a glance.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t tell me you believe any of that?¡± Adrey asked. She marked their page, closed the tome, and stood to smooth out her own clothing.


    ¡°Is that so unreasonable?¡± Ellaenie asked, defensively. ¡°Magic can achieve all sorts of things!¡±


    ¡°Yes, but there¡¯s the problem isn¡¯t it? If it can achieve all sorts of things, it¡¯s so hard to know what¡¯s real and what¡¯s not.¡± Adrey flashed a small, challenging smile. ¡°Besides, I can read your mind, and I don¡¯t need magic to do it, I just know you well. And seeing through time? I don¡¯t believe that one bit! I think she¡¯s just an old woman who¡¯s met plenty of nervous girls who want to impress her, and she¡¯s seen enough of life to know how the dance steps go.¡±


    Ellaenie tried to object, but it died unspoken. ¡°I¡ªhmm.¡±


    Adrey giggled, and even Lisze tried to conceal a small laugh as she helped Ellaenie shrug on the bodice.


    ¡°You¡¯re nervous because you¡¯re intimidated by the legend and you want to impress her,¡± Adrey said, and took Ellaenie¡¯s hands to give them a reassuring squeeze. ¡°You don¡¯t have to impress her. You don¡¯t have to impress anyone. You¡¯re the bloody Duchess of Enerlend, love!¡±


    Ellaeni nodded, smiled, and lifted her chin as Lisze buttoned the bodice up to above her collarbones. She¡¯d decided to fly in the opposite direction to fashion when it came to necklines: the vogue in Garanese high society at the moment was a neckline so plunging and exposing that, from what she heard, a few daring comtesses in Urstlend were now sporting gowns that bared their bosom for all to see in full!


    The Urstoin had always been¡­risqu¨¦, by Enerlish standards. Though they in turn would say the Enerlish were prudes.


    So be it. Ellaenie certainly wouldn¡¯t be adopting Urstoin fashion, oh no. She much preferred her gowns high-necked and modest. A duchess was the embodiment of legitimate authority after all, the torch-bearer for good and sensible governance. She needed to be a respectable figure, and that meant when she spoke to a man she needed his attention to be on her face and eyes, not a foot lower down.


    Of course, being the duchess, where she led the vogue tended to follow. No doubt, high necks would be back in soon enough.


    ¡°Hair down?¡± Lisze predicted.


    ¡°Down,¡± Ellaenie agreed firmly. What was the point in even having such thick, lustrous hair if she buried it behind hats, pins and ribbons? ¡°What did you pick for jewelry?¡±


    ¡°Oh, you¡¯ll like this!¡± Adrey produced a small box from her pockets. ¡°I had this made specially for you. I was saving it for your birthday, but I think this may be the better occasion.¡±


    ¡°Thank you!¡± Ellaenie gushed, genuinely surprised, then found herself gasping when she opened the box.


    Adrey had given her a silk choker with a silver wire cage fastened to the front. Inside the cage was a perfectly oval stone about the size of Ellaenie¡¯s thumbprint: flecks of iridescence in blue, red and green shimmered just below its surface as it caught the light.


    ¡°Elf-eye opal,¡± Adrey explained, looking quite pleased with herself. ¡°Perfectly natural. River-polished, unworked by human hand. If you¡¯re going to insist on dabbling in magery, you should at least endeavor not to be gauche, hmm?¡±


    Ellanie nodded, dumbstruck. Such a perfectly round, smooth and flawlessly beautiful opal magestone, completely unworked? It must be worth as much as a diamond ten times its size! Even for Adrey Mossjoy, one of the richest people on Garanhir, it was a lavish gift.


    It was exactly the right combination of awe-inspiring and understated. And, she discovered, practical: a small cutout in the choker meant the stone would be held in contact with her skin, meaning she could cast from it without having to reach up and grip it. As it touched her throat, she felt the tingle of stored power, like a memory of lightning.


    Touched beyond words, she gave Adrey the best hug she could, given they both were wearing several thick layers of linen and silk, then obediently turned around and stood still while Adrey settled it around her neck.


    Lisze brought the mirror round, and Ellaenie gave herself a well-considered look over. Yes. Yes, this would do nicely. She looked elegant rather than extravagant, with a touch of magic at her throat and fingertips. She smiled at Lisze and gave a nod.


    ¡°Well then.¡± Lisze opened the door and called out into the hall. ¡°Major Droles? The duchess is dressed.¡±


    Tomos Droles was a tall and achingly handsome man who¡¯d served as Ellaenie¡¯s equerry from the very day her parents were taken. He was much too old for her of course, and entirely too far below her station, but neither of those facts made him look any less dashing in his uniform. He gave her his usual small bow as he stepped into the room, then gave an approving nod at her attire. ¡°Good morning, your grace.¡±


    ¡°Good morning, Tomos.¡± Ellaenie gave Lisze a grateful kiss on the cheek, then took the major¡¯s arm and allowed him to escort her out of the room and down the hall: Adrey walked with them on her other side. ¡°I take it we¡¯re expecting the Thaighn to arrive soon?¡±


    ¡°The weather was a little uncooperative overnight, so her ship was delayed slightly. It moored at a mast in Dockerten half an hour ago, and they¡¯re letting the bag down gently.¡± Tomos glanced out a window as they passed it, and paused to point. ¡°There she is, the one with the green bag. The Dubh-Cheist.¡±


    Ellaenie frowned for a second. The bag wasn¡¯t just a handsome dark green, it had a large black bird edged in white sewn to the front. An expensive, high-maintenance touch, that. Possibly a signal from Thaighn Saoirse that she wasn¡¯t to be treated as an uncultured foreigner. Not that Ellaenie would have.


    ¡°The¡­Enigma?¡± she translated.


    ¡°I believe so. Rather a good name, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    Ellaenie could only nod as she watched the ship¡¯s slow, careful descent. Enigma. Entirely apt, both for the mystery in which Lord Drevin had wrapped this visit, and for the woman aboard it. He¡¯d written to his mysterious ¡®old friend,¡¯ and within a month the palace had received correspondence from Thaighn Saoirse¡¯s steward concerning an official visit.


    That in itself was an event of great significance. For somebody of Saoirse Crow-Sight¡¯s station to leave her own home and court, and travel to that of a foreign ruler? It was the biggest political news of the year.


    And Lord Drevin insisted that his old friend was not, in fact, the Thaighn.


    Ellaenie really ought to have objected to all this cloak-and-dagger mystery and secrecy. She was the bloody Duchess of Enerlend, as Adrey had so bluntly put it. And no doubt she could have ordered Drevin to spill everything¡­but she found she was rather enjoying the mystery of it all. She trusted Drevin, if it was actually important that she knew, she would know. So why not enjoy his little game?


    Still¡­as the Dubh-Cheist sank lower and lower down the spire and vanished from view over the rooftops¡­she was glad to be moving on to the next step. Half a year was long enough for this enigma to last, and Ellaenie was ready for answers.


    ¡°Very good,¡± she said aloud. ¡°Now. Let¡¯s be ready to welcome our guest.¡±


    After all: the sooner the pomp and ceremony of welcoming a foreign visitor was complete, the sooner she could ask the burning questions¡­


    <hr>


    <blockquote>


    "Navigation between earthmotes is complicated by the fact that the only fixed frame of reference we know of is the Roil. The cardinal directions are therefore ¡°Spinwise¡± (movement with the turning of the Roil,) ¡°Backspin¡± (movement against,) ¡°Top¡± (toward the Roil¡¯s pole wherein Spinwise motion appears clockwise,) ¡°Pedestal¡± (the opposite pole,) ¡°Up,¡± and ¡°Down,¡± which are movement inwards and outwards toward and away from the sun respectively.¡±


    ¡ªHua Min-Pok, Navigational Fundamentals


    </blockquote>


    <h2>Oneist Manor, Long Drop City</h2>


    Ajhazra, Alakbir Earthmote, Sayf


    09.06.03.06.05


    The aqueduct might have been the safest approach for getting into Civorage¡¯s manor unseen, but for Jerl it was nightmarish. The darkness, the chilly water, the low stone roof and the fact the gap between them was barely enough for his nose had him fighting for calm. He¡¯d never imagined himself a claustrophobic man before now, but here and now the one thought pounding over and over in his skull was keep calm.


    Much easier said than done. Drowning was firmly in second place on Jerl¡¯s list of worst ways to die, right behind being shade-taken. But Whisker had been painfully clear that panic was how men got killed taking this route. ¡°Stay calm,¡± he¡¯d said. ¡°Force yourself to stay still. Breath through the nose and keep your body relaxed. Trust the water. Do that, and I promise you won¡¯t drown. Start thrashing, and we all might. So for the love of the Crowns stay still even if something touches you.¡±


    So far, nobody was thrashing. They floated, in pitch black and in silence, to the point where Jerl started to see weird dark anti-colors dance and play in front of him, which were entirely unaffected when he tried experimentally closing his eyes.


    His fear of the dark wasn¡¯t helping, either. This stunt would be doubly insane anywhere other than a Sayfi earthmote. The faintest flicker of eclipse, even the scudding shadow of a passing wandering isle, and they¡¯d all be taken in a heartbeat¡­


    He realized he was starting to breathe heavily, and forced himself to slow down again. Relax. Flow with the water.


    Wait.


    He¡¯d done a lot of waiting, these last two days. First had been waiting for news of Deragian¡¯s carefully permitted escape. Second had been waiting for the Make Your Own Fortune to undock in pursuit of the Windwhisper, the ship supposedly smuggling Jerl and his friends to Garanhir.


    Then had been just¡­waiting. For night to fall, and for Civorage to be far enough away.


    Now, this waiting in the dark. Time ticked on, dragged out by his own anxiety into something invisible. He no longer had any sense of it passing. There was just¡­this. Just the floating, and the occasional momentary touch and scrape when his nose glanced off the ceiling.


    No rats, thank fuck. He¡¯d have really had a hard time if vermin suddenly decided to use him for a raft. In the end, the only rat he even heard was Mouse, whose soft voice called from up ahead: ¡°Hatch.¡±


    Sudden light laid siege to Jerl¡¯s eyes as Whisker lit a magestone, even though he kept it dim. Then there was splashing, the sound of something heavy being pushed aside with a grunt of effort. More splashing and ripples as Mouse climbed out of the aqueduct, followed by Whisker, Ju-Wi, Imdura¡­


    Mouse took Jerl¡¯s hand and helped him stand with a grunt of effort. ¡°Winter¡¯s tits, you¡¯re heavy. Fuck do they feed you where you¡¯re from?¡±


    ¡°Sheep, mostly,¡± Jerl rumbled, truthfully. He felt oddly light-headed and off-balance somehow, not to mention freezing cold, numb-fingered and full-body sore from holding himself still the whole way with a full chest of air (or else he¡¯d sink), but he shook it off as best he could and squatted down to help Derghan out of the hole, then Amir. Sinikka sprang out of the aqueduct without any help, looking mostly as though she¡¯d just taken a refreshing nap.


    ¡°You okay?¡± she asked him.


    ¡°I really hope I never have to do that again.¡±


    She patted him reassuringly on the arm ¡°Take it from one who knows, drowning¡¯s not that bad a way to go. It sounds worse than it is, nay?¡± She flashed a puckish little smile at Jerl¡¯s expression, then darted past him to listen at the door.


    They were in a wine cellar, Jerl realized. The air smelled of dust and oak, and as his eyes adjusted to there being light to see by, he could make out a wall of little diamond alcoves, each one home to a bottle.


    The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.


    Amir took out a magestone, drew all the water out his clothes with a grunt of magical effort, and carefully tossed the resulting liquid ball back into the aqueduct. That done, he picked a bottle at random and inspected it.


    ¡°Hmm. Sangiovese Urstoine, five-fourteen,¡± he commented, approvingly. ¡°Good choice.¡±


    Derghan, who looked just about as miserable as Jerl had ever seen a man, gave Amir a disbelieving stare while wringing cold water from his beard. ¡°Really?¡± he asked. ¡°Is the sort of wine the bugger drinks really what¡¯s on your mind?¡±


    ¡°It would be a dreadful waste for a man like him to drink bad wine, don''t you think?¡± Amir retorted. he thrust a stone in Jerl¡¯s direction, and Jerl felt a moment of uncomfortable suction as all the water flowed out of his hair and clothing to condense into a fat drop the size of a melon above Amir¡¯s palm. Useful spell, that¡­though, he had to lick his palate a few times to dispel a sudden case of dry mouth.


    ¡°Valkyr¡¯s arse, you¡¯re a weird one sometimes¡­¡± Derghan grumbled, stood with a groan of effort, and started unwrapping the oilcloth bag with their weapons in it. ¡°Moment of truth¡­¡±


    They checked the guns over while Amir and Imdura did the rounds and dried them off. By a miracle of good planning, the weapons were perfectly dry, and Jerl holstered his pistols just as there was a click from the lock.


    Ju-Wi beamed triumphantly at them. ¡°Good wine, cheap locks,¡± she said as she squirted a little oil on the hinges. ¡°Good to know he don''t spend big on everything...¡±


    ¡°They won''t all be cheap.¡± Whisker gently reminded her. ¡°This is just the wine cellar after all. We all dry and ready?¡±


    ¡°Ready,¡± Jerl confirmed. Sin and Derghan nodded, Amir gave a thumbs-up.


    ¡°Outstanding.¡± Whisker drew his own hand crossbow and stepped up to the door. ¡°Lights out, and silence from now on.¡±


    The last thing Jerl saw before the room became just as dark as the aqueduct was Mouse pressing his ear to the wood. After a few seconds, a crack of the faintest light appeared as he pushed the door open and followed his weapon through, around and behind. His silhouette paused to be sure of the corridor outside, then beckoned them forward.


    The Street Rats certainly knew their business: they moved as stealthily as shades, flitting along in near-perfect silence. Sin was right behind them, her own bare feet making nary a sound.


    Jerl, meanwhile, felt lumbering and lubberly. Like most airshipmen he favored soft-soled grippy shoes for sure footing on the deck and up the rigging, but still each of his own footsteps seemed to him like it must be echoing throughout the stone cellars, but none of the Rats so much as glanced at him.


    The pattern of move-pause-listen-move repeated down the length of the next corridor, and the one after, and Jerl had to shake his head as he considered just how big the cellars alone were. As they neared the third corner, Whisker raised a hand, palm turned towards the wall, and waved them to hug it. It wasn''t immediately clear why, until a young woman trotted past them carrying a laundry basket.


    She didn¡¯t notice them, despite Jerl being quite sure his heart was about to smash its way through his ribcage. He held his breath and willed himself to be invisible as the maid carried on her way.


    The room she¡¯d emerged from appeared to be a dormitory, with bunks full of slumbering faithful. Easily resolved: Imdura locked the door on the sleeping Oneists with a little telekinetic magic, packed the lock with some kind of resin to keep them locked in, and after that the stairs to the mansion''s ground floor beckoned.


    So far, so good. But also a sign of things to come, and a confirmation of something that had worried Jerl since he¡¯d first turned his thoughts to this heist.


    Jerl was a firmly working class man, from a working class family. The Rosehip Inn had been in his family for generations, and he¡¯d grown up helping with the endless chores involved in keeping the place running. Inns on the Tredmothfa, the ancient elf-built road (or rather, human slave-built on the elves¡¯ orders) that ran the length of Cantre duchy along Garanhir¡¯s leading edge, never slept. Even in the very dead of night, there were guests who needed service, hearths that needed fuel, sheets that needed laundering, vegetables to chop, firewood to split, horses to feed. Jerl had grown up trotting around after his sisters and cousins, carrying baskets and boxes in the dead of night until he graduated to ever-bigger, ever-heavier work.


    Clearly the Oneist manor had a similar rota of nocturnal chores. Some part of him had dared to fantasize it was just a big house and all the occupants would be sound asleep in their beds, but no. There were maids and servants abroad, presumably Oneists themselves and linked by Civorage¡¯s mind-chains.


    A perfect alarm, in other words. The moment any of them spotted the intruders, or was knocked unconscious or slain would be the moment every Oneist in the manor realized they were there and came gunning for them. And that door wouldn¡¯t hold the ones sleeping downstairs for long¡­


    Thank the Crowns for carpet. The mansion¡¯s ground floor was built to impress, with carpeting so thick, even Jerl¡¯s unpracticed feet made nary a noise.


    At Whisker¡¯s gesture, Sin took point. She bowed her head, listened intently a moment, then slipped round the corner and¡ª


    Swish.


    ¡ªshe was at the far end of the corridor, tucked up behind a large, dolorously ticking clock. She counted down on her fingers, three, two, one¡­and beckoned them forward as the clock began to chime.


    Under the cover of its tune and four bells, they slipped into a side room rather than linger vulnerably in the corridor. Ju-Wi was the last in, and in her hands the door closed in perfect silence, only to lock a moment later under Imdura¡¯s subtle magic.


    Jerl looked around the room as Mouse and Whisker ghosted to the windows and checked outside. Suddenly, they were back in familiar territory: this was a navigator¡¯s study. A large chart of Alakbir above the fireplace, several more rolled up in a pigeonhole shelf¡­he nearly let out a whistle when he looked at the table in the middle of the space, though. Its lacquered surface was an exquisitely done chart of the Unbroken Earthmote that must have cost a fortune.


    His eye, however, was drawn to a troubling paper half-curled on the near corner.


    Cavalier Queen:


    <ul>


    <li>Hull: Antage-style gull merchantman, 220 tons</li>


    <li>Bag and sails: cover retained bullet bag, no beak, 3 compartments, gaff-rigged</li>


    <li>Engines: Refit, twin Keeghan & Sons Model G</li>


    <li>NF on crew, expect course to meet</li>


    <li>DTOD 9.6.3.2.05::08.10, WOD T4 B2 U5</li>


    </ul>


    Below that, somebody had scribbled a few complicated calculations, then circled the result: ¡°ETA 9.6.3.6.4 not earlier than 18th bell.¡±


    We made better time than they expected, Jerl realized, with a small surge of pride. The Queen had always run a little faster than the math said she ought.


    ¡°So far so good,¡± Whisker commented, breaking silence as he turned away from the window.


    ¡°Stairs are gonna be the hard part,¡± Sin opined. ¡°I heard people out in the atrium¡­¡±


    ¡°Aye. We¡¯re not takin¡¯ the stairs.¡± Whisker unlatched the window and raised it. ¡°Out you go. Put that elf-magic to use.¡±


    Sin paused, then grinned and nodded. ¡°Right.¡±


    She was out the window in a flash, and despite the tension crawling in his spine Jerl couldn¡¯t hold back a smile at the speed and precision with which she turned and scurried up the mansion¡¯s outside wall, her palms and bare feet sticking to the stone like a gecko.


    His smile faded when she didn¡¯t come back immediately. But, on the other hand¡­there was no shouting, no sounds of gunfire, no obvious signs of violence. Not even any footsteps. How long did it take to peep through all those upstairs windows? A couple of minutes. She hadn¡¯t been gone a couple minutes yet¡­


    His hand fidgeted on his pistol. He had no premonition of danger, at least. No fore-warning memory of anything being¡ª


    He damn near jumped out of his skin when Sinikka swept back in through the window with nary a whisper of cloth. She pointed upwards and to her right. ¡°Third one over, that way. Right in the middle, where the wall curves outward.¡±


    ¡°Nice.¡± Whisker gave Jerl and crew a calculating look. ¡°Time to see if you airship types are as good at climbing as I heard.¡±


    Jerl loved climbing. He¡¯d take it over swimming any day; many made it seem so easy, but for him, the frantic struggle against drowning was a battle he wasn¡¯t fond of. Not at all. Climbing, though? Shit, he¡¯d been hauling himself up and across weather-whipped ropes and rigging for over twenty years. No better way to put some strength on a boy! Feed a lad lots of mutton and corn, set him to rigging work on an airship¡­


    And the outside of the mansion may as well have been a lawn. He was out through the window and up the wall in a trice. It wasn¡¯t even that challenging: the stones were big and wide enough apart for him to fit his fingertips between, and each of the upstairs windows had cast iron balconets.


    A good thing he¡¯d worn his soft rigger¡¯s shoes¡ªmore moccasins, really. They were quiet and they were perfect for jobs like this. Good to know he¡¯d have a future as a second-storey burglar, if he ever needed it¡­


    Derghan, as always, needed a bit more help. He spent his time below decks working on the engines, so, not surprising he was more lubberly aloft. Same went for Amir, though Amir was feather-light and skinny enough to have an easier ascent.


    The third window over was dark, but its curtains drawn back, and when Imdura worked his lock-magic again to open the latch from the wrong side of the glass, the frame slid easily upwards. Civorage certainly hadn¡¯t spared expense in the mansion¡¯s construction.


    Nor, for that matter, in his study.


    The centerpiece was an orrery, ten feet tall or more and framed by stairs and walkway so that anyone using it could get up and around it to study the eartmotes¡¯ positions from any angle. Why the Oneists needed their own and couldn¡¯t just use the navigator¡¯s almanac, Jerl didn¡¯t know¡­


    Fuck, it was probably just a pure vanity piece. He was pretty sure all those floor-to-ceiling shelves held more books than a man could reasonably have read in a lifetime, let alone the few years since this mansion was first built. All that gilt and expensive wrought iron meant the study looked more like a museum than a working room.


    Which it was, of course. A museum to Nils Civorage. The man¡¯s sheer ego mean there was a portrait of himself hanging over the fireplace, and another painting above the desk depicted the five ships of the infamous Beacon Mine expedition, setting down in the snow. There was a mannequin in a glass case wearing the hat, coat and scarf Civorage had worn on that day, and a tiny model of the Make Your Own Fortune in a bottle.


    All was neat and orderly and perfect, dusted and polished til it sparkled, filed and organized away¡­except for one table, a low round one between two leather couches. It was littered with letters, and a pen left sloppily in its inkwell.


    Mouse alighted next to Jerl and surveyed the room with a scowl. ¡°Alright¡­there.¡± He darted across the room, touched one of the smaller painting¡¯s frame, and stood back as it swung aside to reveal a safe.


    He flashed Jerl a grin. ¡°Always check the wall fastenings.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll remember that,¡± Jerl confirmed.


    Whisker joined his son. ¡°So. A wall safe. You think it¡¯s in there?¡±


    ¡°Unless he¡¯s done something truly elaborate. Why wouldn¡¯t it be?¡±


    ¡°Eh. I¡¯m getting antsy. Feel like we should be going before this turns wrong on us. Imdura?¡±


    The Prathar mage nodded, and was at the safe in an instant. He ran his fingers over it, shut his eyes and frowned hard while drawing a fresh magestone from his pocket. Jerl watched beads of sweat start to prickle on his skin.


    ¡°¡­Damn.¡±


    ¡°Problem?¡±


    ¡°Too complicated. I can¡¯t¡­I can¡¯t keep all the little pieces in my mind at once.¡± Imdura grit his teeth for one last surge of effort, then stepped back, defeated. ¡°This box is meant to be indestructible, right? Maybe we can¡ª¡±


    The words ¡°seventeen, forty-four, twenty-six, twenty-seven, nine,¡± tripped out of Jerl¡¯s mouth on a wave of deja-vu, premonition and memory.


    There was a long moment of silence. Then Mouse blinked, turned to the safe, and started twisting the dial. The silence was almost choking, and seemed to close in a little tighter with each subtle click as he twisted left, then right, then left, then all the way around right, then back¡­


    Clunk.


    ¡°Fuck¡­¡± Ju-Wi whispered as the safe swung open. ¡°Up until right now, I still had my doubts about you¡­¡±


    ¡°As did I,¡± a new voice spoke. As one, everyone wheeled, drew weapons, aimed¡­but then a wave of sheer willpower washed across them and one by one their blades and weapons lowered as though too heavy for the hands that held them.


    The mannequin in the glass display case stepped down, pushed the door open, and strolled out among them with its hands tucked companionably behind its back. It was a young man, Jerl realized. The lad was maybe fifteen or sixteen, disguised behind a fabric outer that hid his face and arms and made him look for all the world like the dummy he¡¯d been pretending to be.


    But that easy, confident strolling gait was all too familiar. He¡¯d seen it before, at the hag elves¡¯ ritual. And he cursed himself for not imagining this possibility.


    The lad turned his masked face Jerl¡¯s way at last, and Jerl swayed as a mind empowered by Mind itself buffeted him. The door opened and armed men stormed in to surround them.


    And from behind his puppet¡¯s face, Nils Civorage smiled in welcome.


    <hr>


    <h2>Interlude: Ducal Palace, Auldenheigh</h2>


    Capitol of the Garanhir Baronies, Enerlend, Garanhir Earthmote, the World-Sphere of E?rrach


    09.05.15.11.11


    I was expecting less.


    The Duchess of Enerlend was a girl, to be sure. Far too fresh-faced and wide-eyed to be deemed a woman yet. Motherhood had not yet marked her and she was, in Thaighn Saoirse Crow-Sight¡¯s estimation, much too perfectly turned out. Oh, she was doing well enough at playing her regal role, but she¡¯d yet to tap into the well of true charisma. Clothing and accessories, no matter how assiduously chosen, were no substitute.


    Then again, Garanhir-Folk were like that. Took themselves much too seriously, prettied and primped and perfumed themselves. Duchess Ellaenie, at first glance, seemed to defy that trend not at all. Even the magestone around her neck was a pretty jewel and a statement of money. By rights, she ought to be confirming every impatient thought Saoirse had ever held of the Garanese.


    But the girl was undeniably witch-touched. Those big, pretty, olive green eyes had known terrible loss, and found a source of steel in it. Fascinating.


    She felt a touch of psychic amusement from her traveling companion. She was the one this Lord Drevin had written to, after all. And it was on her request that Saoirse was taking the deeply unusual step of traveling far from her Crae and visiting this young duchess. Nobody else could have asked it of her.


    She wondered if the duchess knew just who had walked into her palace.


    Not yet. But she will, soon.


    As you say¡­ Saoirse assessed the duchess some more. She was waiting patiently for them to approach down the long carpet.


    Her companion¡¯s amusement deepened. All these years of being consistently wrong about people, and you still haven¡¯t learned.


    Well then. This might just be as interesting as had been promised after all. Saoirse straightened her back, lifted her chin, and allowed the Garanese to have their pomp and pageantry at this meeting. She strode down the carpet to where the girl duchess awaited her and, when the time was right, bowed.


    Not that this was any hardship or dismay. A thaighn should pay respect on visiting a fellow thaighn¡¯s hall. ¡°Your grace.¡±


    ¡°Your grace,¡± the duchess replied, and dropped a light curtsey. ¡°Welcome to Auldenheigh, to Enerlend, and to Garanhir.¡±


    ¡°Thank you for receiving me,¡± Saoirse replied.


    ¡°You are most welcome. Though...I confess, I am confused as to the reason for your visit. When Lord Drevin wrote to a friend of his on my behalf, I did not imagine he meant yourself¡­¡± Her eyes flicked sideways to Saoirsee¡¯s companion.


    Saoirse found a smile. The girl did have sight. Not completely penetrating though, not yet. Somehow, Saoirse doubted the young duchess would have been so ducally composed if she¡¯d seen completely through the skein...


    ¡°Lord Drevin wrote to my friend here, Calyah,¡± she said. Not a lie, technically. That was certainly the name she¡¯d gone by throughout her time as Saoirse¡¯s guest. ¡°Which I consider a credit to the man, that he¡¯s earned her friendship.¡±


    Calyah smiled over the duchess¡¯ shoulder at a short, balding man in fine but understated clothes, standing behind her and to her left. ¡°It is good to see you again, my friend.¡±


    ¡°And you as well, my lady,¡± Drevin replied, with a stiff bow.


    That flicker of witch-sight showed itself again. Duchess Ellaenie watched the two exchange their words, gave Calyah a studious look, then stepped to one side while offering Saoirse her arm. ¡°Shall we withdraw?¡± she asked.


    She sees through me, Calyah mentioned.


    Not right through. But I doubt it will come as a complete shock when we tell her the truth. Saoirse smiled and took the young duchess¡¯ arm, allowing herself to be escorted. Out loud, she commented. ¡°That¡¯s a right fair magestone ye wear, duchess.¡±


    ¡°A gift from my good friend. I have no idea how I¡¯ll repay it, yet.¡±


    ¡°Repaying a gift?¡± Saoirse tilted her head. ¡°My ken o¡¯ gifting is, there¡¯s no expectation of repayment.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps we do things differently here.¡±


    ¡°So it would seem. ¡®Tis a strange custom to me, but it hints the Enerlish are a generous folk,¡± Saoirse ventured, diplomatically.


    ¡°I like to believe generosity is one of my people¡¯s virtues, yes. They have been most generous to me since my parents¡­passed.¡±


    Were taken. There was agony behind that tiny pause.


    ¡°Aye. And ye have my condolences, Duchess. ¡®Tis a heavy burden ye¡¯ve taken on, and sooner than any could fairly ask of ye.¡±


    ¡°Thank you, Thaighn. I have been fortunate in my allies and advisors.¡±


    Saoirse read much into that. On the face of it, Ellaenie¡¯s comment was modest, gentle, gracious and politic. But this was a conversation between witches, even if the girl didn¡¯t think of herself as one yet. There was a thorn under those petals: I am no fool¡ªI heed good advice, and know when advice is good.


    A rightly dangerous combination, in a woman with her authority.


    ¡°I am glad to hear it,¡± Saoirse replied aloud. They were nearly out of public eye, now. The slow, genteel pace they¡¯d set had carried them down a long and portrait-bedecked hall: now, the handsome fellow in the military green jacket opened a door for them and stepped smartly aside. Lord Drevin was the last to enter: he closed the door behind him, then moved to the room¡¯s fireplace where he leaned against the mantlepiece in an unconscious mirror of the portrait above his head.


    Ellaenie¡¯s lady-in-waiting helped her get those ridiculous skirts in order so she could sit, then bobbed a curtsey and vacated the room. Ellaenie took a moment to settle herself in her chair, then cocked her head at first Saoirse, then Calyah, then back to Saoirse.


    ¡°Now that we¡¯re in private, if you¡¯d rather dispense with the formalities¡­I am happy for you to call me by name, if you¡¯ll let me do the same,¡± she said.


    A burst of amusement from Calyah. Hah! She pre-empted you!


    ¡°Thank ye,¡± Saoirse relaxed a bit. ¡°Titles and formality have their place, truly, but¡­¡±


    ¡°But we aren¡¯t here to be overly polite to each other, are we?¡± Ellaenie sat forward. ¡°Saoirse, I have a problem. There¡¯s a magic at work in this city that I don¡¯t understand, and it frightens me.¡±


    ¡°And you¡¯re not the sort who frightens easy, are ye?¡±


    ¡°I like to think not,¡± Ellaenie agreed, then looked up at Lord Drevin. ¡°Now, Gilber. I¡¯ve let you have your fun and secrets, but I think it¡¯s past time you told me exactly who your friend here is, and why when you wrote to her it piqued a thaighn¡¯s interest.¡±


    Lord Drevin chuckled, and straightened up. For all his dry, solemn appearance it was clear he had an appreciation for mischief.


    ¡°My liege lady, your grace Ellaenie, Duchess of Enerlend and Warden of the City of Auldenheigh¡­¡± he said, formally, ¡°may I present to you the Herald Rheannach the Beloved, Witch-of-the-Mountains, Crownwife, known to the elves as Raksuul.¡±


    The look on Ellaenie¡¯s face was too much, and Saoirse couldn¡¯t hold back the cackle that came up from inside her as the composed, confident duchess vanished entirely, replaced by a gawping girl. But who could blame her? Saoirse could well remember the day she¡¯d realized just who the beautiful, blue-eyed guest in her hall was.


    For her part, Rheannach was as graceful and warm as ever. ¡°Please forgive my friends,¡± she said, and rose to her feet. ¡°I think they enjoy the necessary secrecy a bit too much. Don¡¯t you, Saoirse?¡±


    ¡°Ach, let an old woman have her fun,¡± Saoirse retorted, waving a hand. ¡°Ye don¡¯t just blurt out that yer old friend an¡¯ mentor is a Herald.¡±


    ¡°I¡ª¡± Ellaene was fighting with her skirts to scramble to her feet, but Rheannach put out a reassuring hand.


    ¡°Please. I¡¯m not one for formality, Besides: I¡¯m in your kingdom, your grace. And as you said¡­there¡¯s a magic at work here to be concerned about.¡±


    Ellaenie paused, then stood anyway, more calmly. ¡°¡­Thank you. I just¡­I knew you had to be more than just the thaighn¡¯s companion, but to actually meet a Herald is¡­¡±


    ¡°Rare. I know.¡± Rheannach¡¯s piercing blue eyes creased in a brief reassuring smile, before becoming solemn again. ¡°But your instincts serve you well. If Gilber¡¯s report on this Church of the One and its magic is correct, then we may have very serious trouble brewing in the distance.¡±


    ¡°H-how serious?¡± Ellaenie asked, tentatively.


    ¡°Serious enough that if my suspicions pan out, it will greatly concern my husband.¡±


    That got her attention. Even the commonfolk knew: one did not invoke such a thing lightly. For those in the Craft?


    Unthinkable.


    ¡°But for the moment, that can wait,¡± Rheannach continued. ¡°I think our first priority must be to sharpen your knowledge of the Craft.¡±


    ¡°Quite right,¡± Saoirse agreed. ¡°Ye¡¯ve the making of a witch, Ellaenie. That much has been plain from the second I laid eyes on ye.¡±


    ¡°A...witch? I¡¯ve been studying magic, but¡ª¡±


    ¡°Aye. Tome-magic. Workshop-magic. But ye have the makings for something far greater. Ye could dally with the Crowns themselves and become something more.¡±


    ¡°And our little coven has lacked for a Maiden in far too long,¡± Rheannach added. She glanced at Saoirse, and they exchanged a nod of mutual intent. ¡°We¡¯d like to invite you to take that role.¡±


    Ellaenie did something sensible: she glanced at Lord Drevin. And Lord Drevin in turn did something even more sensible: he declined to advise her, with a small non-committal tilt of his head.


    ¡°I have¡­responsibilities,¡± Ellaenie said, carefully. ¡°I serve millions of people.¡±


    ¡°And I serve tens of thousands,¡± Saoirse retorted. ¡°Take it from me, ye will grow in your ability to do right by them. ¡®Tis not neglect we are inviting you to.¡±


    The first test. Could the girl be decisive?


    Rheannach watched her for a second, and delivered a small nudge. ¡°And¡­if I may. There are changes coming. Major changes, ones I believe would benefit from someone in your position having the fullness of the Craft. I know it is¡­much to ask. I know the risks better than most.¡±


    ¡°What risks?¡±


    ¡°Heartbreak. Pain. Perhaps death. All life¡¯s dangers. You¡¯ve already faced and overcome one of the worst, however.¡±


    Saoirse said nothing. She watched Ellaenie¡¯s face, and the thoughts behind it. Saw the understanding¡­and the decision. The resolve.


    ¡°¡­Tell me more.¡±


    <hr>


    <blockquote>


    Rheannach goes by many titles: Beloved Soul, First-Crone, Crownwife, Witch-Of-The-Mountains, and more. She is E?rrach¡¯s greatest love and his only wife, wed to him since the First Day, though the marriage has often been tempestuous and fraught. She is known to spend long spans of time apart from her husband, walking among humankind (nearly exclusively among women) and sharing her secret knowledge. Crown and Herald alike decline to reveal whether their union has borne children. If it has, one can only imagine what power such a child would inherit.


    ¡ªAnoloa Nwodike, The Heralds


    </blockquote>


    <h2>Nils Civorage¡¯s Study, Oneist Manor</h2>


    Long Drop City, Ajhazra, Alakbir Earthmote, Sayf


    09.06.03.06.05


    Civorage¡¯s mind was like an imminent storm, or a vast stone slab teetering overhead and threatening to come crashing down. Jerl could feel it bearing in on him from all angles. He hadn¡¯t been anything like this last time¡­!


    Or maybe he¡¯d just had preferred to play rather than dominate, then. Whatever the truth, the pressure against Jerl¡¯s mind now was immense, crushing, overwhelming. Around the room, Jerl¡¯s companions lowered their weapons to the carpet, their expressions slack as though they were awestruck by the sight of something.


    Civorage¡¯s puppet turned and frowned at Jerl. ¡°¡­Put those guns down.¡±


    The command hit like a hammer blow. Jerl clenched his fists tight around his pistols¡¯ grips. ¡°Fuckin¡¯¡­come here¡­and take ¡®em yourself, you bastard.¡±


    Even through a thin cloth mask and another man¡¯s face, he saw the brief look of disbelief give way to fury. ¡°I said¡ª¡±


    ¡°I heard you the first time, fuckface.¡± Jerl willed his fingers to hold on. His head was pounding, but¡­but he could hold it. Somehow, he was afloat even while Civorage¡¯s will raged around him like a flash flood.


    There was a long, dangerous pause as Civorage¡¯s puppet regarded him coldly. The pressure waxed and pounded in Jerl¡¯s ears, but couldn¡¯t break through.


    Eventually, a sneer of understanding twisted the face behind the cloth. ¡°¡­You opened the box. You must have.¡±


    Jerl groaned. His mind was starting to fray at the edges. Sheer hostility held him together. ¡°Saw you die, too. Y¡¯¡­You squealed like a bitch.¡±


    ¡°Whichever word you claimed, it grants you protection. But not enough. I will peel you open, Jerl Holten. If I cannot have the Word from your hand, I will tear it from your mind. The rest of you: take him to the cellars.¡±


    There was a long, silent paused. Nobody moved. Astonishment writ itself behind the puppet¡¯s mask.


    ¡°Didn¡¯t you hear me? I said¡ª¡±


    A new voice interrupted him: Mouse¡¯s. ¡°I think¡­it¡¯s time for you¡­to shut up and leave us alone.¡±


    Jerl turned. Mouse had forced himself to his feet, his face a mask of effort and pain. In his right hand, the box from the safe was alight, and open. The raw, mind-bending non-substance of the Word crawled up his arm as he looked Civorage¡¯s puppet dead in the eye.


    His mouth moved, and there was a sound that wasn¡¯t a sound, a word that was far, far more than a mere utterance. An opposing flash-flood of willpower crashed into the torrent flowing from Civorage¡¯s puppet with enough force to knock Jerl down to his knees, and leave everyone else in the room writhing on the floor in agony.


    Then the pressure released, with an abruptness that left Jerl totally off-balance as though he¡¯d been pushing against the wind as it died to nothing: Civorage¡¯s puppet and all his Oneists had fainted.


    Mouse gawped at him. ¡°Holy shit. Holy fuck. I just, I¡ªYou¡¯re all¡­there¡¯s so much¡­!¡±


    Jerl swept up to him and forced the box in his hands closed. ¡°You spoke a Word of Creation.¡±


    Mouse looked at him. The pressure was back, but this time it was different. This wasn¡¯t an attempt to invade and pillage, this was¡­more like a plea for help. A need to know what ought be done.


    ¡°You can¡¯t hold onto it all,¡± Jerl warned. ¡°You¡¯ll go as mad as that bastard. Keep only a little, something that fits you, something that¡¯ll get us out of this mess. Let the rest go.¡±


    ¡°But what if¡ª?!¡±


    ¡°Mouse. Look into my mind.¡±


    Mouse did. The sensation of his awareness reaching in through the invitingly opened door was unlike anything Jerl could even describe, but then there was a sense of¡­withdrawal. And understanding. Mouse glanced back down at the box in his hand, then shut his eyes and turned his thoughts inward for a moment.


    Then he was calm again. he took a deep breath, nodded. ¡°Right¡­Right. Huntsman¡¯s cock.¡±


    ¡°Right?¡± Jerl agreed. ¡°What did you do? How did you do it?¡±


    ¡°I¡­I¡¯d just grabbed the box when he made his big entrance. The second I touched it, it¡ªit opened. And then I could see it, see what he¡¯d done to them and I¡­¡± Mouse paused, and flapped an expressively hopeless hand. ¡°I broke the circle.¡±


    ¡°All of it?¡±


    ¡°Just¡­them.¡± Mouse waved a hand at the others. Their friends were clambering back to their feet with a series of groans: the Oneists were still out cold. ¡°No way I coulda done the whole thing. He¡¯s much too strong¡­we need to go!¡±


    Jerl didn¡¯t need telling twice: There was shouting from elsewhere in the building. And out in the gardens, too. ¡°Keep that safe,¡± he advised, and darted to Sinikka¡¯s side.


    She waved him off. ¡°I¡¯m up. Fuck me upside-down¡­¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t look up. Get moving!¡±


    Sin cursed again, but lurched to her feet, shaking her head violently to clear it. ¡°What happened?¡±


    ¡°Tell you later if we survive this. Get ¡®em going!¡±


    Amir was already upright. He dabbed at his lip where blood was leaking from his nostril, and shook himself just like Sin had. ¡°¡­I¡¯ve never felt a will like that. Not even Yngmir¡¯s. How did you stand it?¡±


    ¡°Word protected me. Same goes for Mouse. Hold that door shut!¡±


    Amir nodded, turned, thrust a hand into his pocket and pulled out a magestone. He thrust it toward the door just as it smashed open, forcing it back into place with a crunching force that clearly knocked somebody flying.


    Jerl looked around. Derghan had lumbered to the window, only to jerk back sharply as bullets splintered the glass. He spat a curse, pulled the bolt on his rifle, and returned fire. ¡°There¡¯s a good six or seven out that way!¡± He called, worked the bolt again, fired and corrected himself. ¡°Five!¡±


    ¡°Still our best way out of here!¡± Whisker stumbled over to join him, pistols in hand. He flinched aside as a bullet nearly flayed the tip of his ear, then squeezed off several shots into the gardens below. The firepower let up a little.


    ¡°Sin!¡±


    She was at the window in a flash. ¡°Ready!¡±


    ¡°Pile it on! Pin ¡®em down!¡±


    Guns along the windows, mages at the doors. Jerl smashed out the pane with his pistol, cleared the glass away, and sent a cultist cowering behind the statuary in a rain of stone chips. Beside him, Ju-Wi brought a lever-action carbine to the fight, and put it to work.


    Sin went out the window, landed cat-like on the gravel path below, and blurred. There was a white-grey streak across the lawn, and then the oneists were all collapsing in unison.


    She waved up at them. ¡°Clear!¡±


    Jerl swatted Derghan hard on the shoulder. ¡°Go!¡±


    Derghan didn¡¯t need telling twice. He shouldered through the window, dropped to the gravel path below, rolled through the landing and then scrambled into the scant cover of an ornamental wall.


    ¡°Holten! I need a hand!¡±


    Jerl turned. Ju-Wi had moved to his side. ¡°Short legs!¡± she explained.


    Jerl nodded and turned his back for her. ¡°Climb on!¡±


    There was a heavy slam on the door as she scaled him, and the wood splintered. Amir grunted with effort as he drew a fresh magestone. ¡°Clear out sharpish, please¡­¡± he warned.


    ¡°Here!¡± Ju-Wi dug out a paper-wrapped bundle from a bag at her waist and tossed it down by the door. It had a length of fuse.


    ¡°Perfect!¡± Imdura agreed. ¡°Now, out!¡±


    Jerl nodded, and barged through the window. He twisted, grabbed the sill, dropped down, kicked off the wall, staggered a bit under Ju-Wi¡¯s extra weight but kept his footing well enough to storm across the gravel path, vault the wall and land on the lawn on the far side. There was a sharp crack as a bullet from inside the manor house missed him by a foot or two.


    ¡°Shit!¡± Ju-Wi dropped off his back, got into cover and returned fire.


    That just left the mages, and they wasted no time. In fact, they took no caution at all, but leapt from the study windows at a dead run.


    The reason why became apparent an instant later. There was a heavy splintering crash as the door failed behind them, shouting as Oneists barged into the room in pursuit¡­


    Ju-Wi¡¯s powder charge blew out what little unbroken glass was still up there, leaving behind billowing smoke, the orange flicker of flames, and the shrieks of those few wounded Oneists who¡¯d survived the blast.


    ¡°Nice!¡± Whisker called. He took aim, shot, then waved vigorously. ¡°Come on! We can get out over the wall, this wa¡ª¡±


    Something hit him in the chest. He fell back onto his rump, looked down, and frowned at the red stain spreading across his shirt, as though he couldn¡¯t quite believe it was there.


    ¡°Dad!¡± Mouse tried to break cover to reach him, only for a storm of rifle fire to pin him in place. Jerl flung himself flat as bullets cracked and spat overhead, killing-close. Mouse tried again, tears streaming down his face, then turned toward the mansion and shrieked.


    ¡°LEAVE US ALONE!¡±


    Jerl heard it as much in his soul as in his ears. Anguished, desperate command backed up by the power of a Word of Creation cracked out like a whip and seemed to echo in ways impossible for mere sound: *The shooting instantly stopped.


    None of them were foolish enough to let such an opportunity go to waste. Derghan and Jerl grabbed Whisker under his arms, hoisted him between them, put their heads down and ran. Up ahead, Sin reached the boundary wall and sprang over it like a flea, paused on the top to secure a rope and grappling hook, then dropped back down to give Ju-Wi and Amir a boost.


    None of the Oneists seemed to come to their senses. There was no shouting, the shooting didn¡¯t resume. The sheer quiet made Jerl¡¯s spine crawl as though a bullet might find him too, at any moment. But¡­no. Even though it took them a long few seconds to maneuver Whisker over the wall, silence reigned.


    Jerl was next over. He heaved himself up the rope, vaulted the top and dropped down to an all-too-familiar scene. Whisker was propped against the wall, pale and glaze-eyed with blood trickling from the corner of his mouth, while Imdura and Amir combined their efforts to save him. They¡¯d torn his shirt open, and the air above his skin was seething with healing magic.


    ¡°How bad?¡± Jerl asked, dropping down next to them.


    The only reply he got was a sharp ¡°Shh!¡± The mages¡¯ brows were damp with effort.


    Well¡­that was in its way encouraging. Amir knew a mortal wound when he saw one, so if he was putting in this much effort¡­


    Mouse was holding his father¡¯s hand tight. He looked up at Jerl, pleading, but Jerl could only shrug. He hadn¡¯t foreseen this. He didn¡¯t know how it would go.


    ¡°How long do we have before whatever Mouse did wears off?¡± Sin asked.


    ¡°I dunno.¡±


    ¡°¡¯That¡¯s how long we have before they come looking for us.¡±


    ¡°Yeah. I dunno.¡±


    ¡°Great.¡± Sin sniffed grimly, and turned a sharp eye down the street. ¡°¡­What¡¯s our next move, assuming they don¡¯t?¡±


    Jerl at least did know that one. ¡°We contact the crew, get to the Queen. We use Mouse¡¯s new power to get the dockmaster to let us go. And we find somewhere else to be.¡±


    ¡°Got anywhere particular in mind?¡±


    ¡°Sin, I¡¯m flying by feel here. I don¡¯t have a premonition. Right now¡­all I know is, we can¡¯t stay on Alakbir. We need to go somewhere else.¡±


    ¡°Thundering Hall?¡± Derghan suggested. ¡°From what you said of last time¡­¡±


    ¡°No.¡± Jerl shook his head. That didn¡¯t feel like the right answer. ¡°No¡­no, we need somewhere the Oneists don¡¯t have any eyes. Somewhere there¡¯s no circles or preachers.¡±


    ¡°And it needs to be somewhere Whisker can rest,¡± Amir added. He stood and wiped blood of his hands.


    ¡°He¡¯ll live?¡± Derghan checked. ¡°Thought for sure he was fucked.¡±


    ¡°The bullet passed through his lung and clear out the other side. It¡¯s ugly, but survivable¡­with the efforts of a healer and some good fortune, if he doesn¡¯t get an infection.¡±


    ¡°I have an idea, then,¡± Sin declared. She looked to Amir. ¡°How far is Il?yede earthmote?¡±


    Amir closed his eyes and calculated ¡°About¡­sixty days?¡±


    ¡°Damn. We don¡¯t have enough provisions,¡± Sin scowled. ¡°And can Whisker handle a voyage that long?¡±


    ¡°Honestly, with Imdura and me looking after him, the Queen would be even safer for him than a hospital.¡±


    ¡°As for provisions, I have some ideas,¡± Jerl said. ¡°But why Il?yede? What¡¯s out there?¡±


    The R¨¹wyrdan Tribe.¡±


    Jerl frowned, trying to recall if he¡¯d ever heard that name. The last time he¡¯d sailed to Il?yede he¡¯d been¡­what, sixteen? Though it had been a memorable trip. ¡°I don¡¯t know ¡®em,¡± he admitted.


    ¡°Pyrfey. One of the four tribes I¡¯m a sibling of. They know me well, they¡¯ll help. They¡¯ll want to help.¡±


    Amir¡¯s lips were moving as he muttered to himself. ¡°R¨¹¡­wyrd¡­¡¯Endless Lament?¡¯¡±


    ¡°Something like that.¡±


    Jerl met Sin¡¯s eye. ¡°¡­Chal-an-chal,¡± he guessed.


    She nodded grimly. ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°Right. That feels right. We¡¯ll do that. Il?yede earthmote, you say.¡±


    Sin nodded. ¡°They move around the Oho¡¯anga grasslands, maybe the Ansai river delta if it¡¯s in flood, or near Mehoom if they¡¯re trading for metal. Don¡¯t worry, they leave markers for returning siblings. We¡¯ll find them quick enough.¡±


    ¡°Right.¡± Jerl glanced over his shoulder. Derghan and Imdura were doing their best to try and lift Whisker safely. They needed a litter. They needed¡­


    They needed direction and leadership. And that was the captain¡¯s job.


    ¡°Alright. You two round up the lads. Just tell ¡®em from me it¡¯s an emergency and I¡¯ll explain when we¡¯re away. Go cautious, and stay away from any Oneists.¡±


    They nodded, and vanished.


    ¡°Mouse! Ju-Wi! You two know these streets, scrounge up something we can use for a litter. Derghan, Imdura, we stay here and we guard Whisker.¡±


    Mouse looked like he wanted to argue, and Jerl felt the feather-touch of his new power as he probed, watched, heard in ways that had nothing to do with the body¡¯s normal senses. Whatever he saw, though, gave him pause, and then he nodded. He tapped Ju-Wi on the arm, and the two of them slipped away among the stables and storehouses to go find something useful


    Jerl crouched down next to Whisker. ¡°How¡¯re you feeling?¡±


    Whisker tried to laugh bitterly, coughed once, and groaned. ¡°Like I got¡­shot through the fuckin¡¯ lung¡­¡± he rasped, in a voice that sounded like a mouthful of bloody gravel. ¡°Thank fuck¡­for healers¡­right?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re welcome,¡± Imdura replied. His expression was worried for his friend, but not grief-struck. That boded well.


    ¡°You¡¯re not out the woods yet,¡± Derghan pointed out, tactlessly.


    ¡°Oh, you¡¯ve just got the¡­.fuckin¡¯ perfect bedside manner¡­ain¡¯tcha?¡± Whisker coughed again, glanced away in the direction Mouse had gone, then gripped Jerl¡¯s shoulder firmly. ¡°Listen well. I¡¯m gonna¡­fuckin¡¯ weather this. But¡­if I don¡¯t. You¡¯re the only other one Mouse can¡­can look to, now. You¡¯re the only¡­other one who knows what¡­havin¡¯ one of those Words in your¡­in ¡®yer head is like. So you look after him. He¡¯s¡­more vulnerable than you¡¯d think. You hear?¡±


    Jerl gripped his hand in return. ¡°I hear.¡±


    ¡°Now shut up and spare that lung,¡± Imdura told him.


    Whisker grunted, winced, and fell silent. Jerl turned and for the first time since they¡¯d made it over the wall he took a moment to really look at where they were, rather than the cursory assessment he¡¯d given it for Oneist gunmen.


    Rich houses had poor buildings around them, it seemed. Just nice enough to not uglify the surrounding manors by contrast, but definitely built to an inferior standard. Coach-houses, stables, storerooms, groundskeeper¡¯s sheds, that sort of thing. All, for the moment, silent.


    All was silent, in fact. A gun battle in Caverntown ought to have brought the Clear Skies guards running. Jerl would have expected to hear whistles, bells and shouting by now. But instead¡­silence. That was entirely wrong enough to make Jerl itch. Surely the city authorities wouldn¡¯t just¡­just¡­


    Just leave them alone.


    ¡­Oh, shit.


    Mouse had power now, still had the Word on his person. And in extremis, he¡¯d screamed a command with the full, psychic weight of pure Mind behind it. When Jerl had spoken Time, he¡¯d reeled all the worlds back to a particular point as easily as winding in a cable. He¡¯d embarked on a different path, and brought his friends back from the dead in doing so. And he¡¯d been careful and deliberate in his choice and application. But Mouse¡­had not. Mouse had been desperate.


    Just how far might that scream have carried?


    Something tickled in Jerl¡¯s mind. Some kind of future-sight, or premonition, told him that it had carried a long, long way indeed. Hopefully for the best, but¡­


    But no. There¡¯d be ramifications to this. Unwelcome ones. He just knew it.


    Mouse and Ju-Wi returned, armed with a couple of gardening tools, a length of rope, and a tarpaulin. It was the work of only a minute or two to lash them together into something they could carry Whisker away on. He groaned in pain as they moved him onto it, but nothing worse than that. Jerl took one side of the litter, Derghan took the other¡­


    And though they passed dozens of people in the streets, not a single one so much as glanced at them.

 Chapter 6: A Moments Respite (part 1)

    <blockquote>


    ¡°Even a cursory examination of the so-called ¡°Craft¡± should reveal that it is little more than perversion. Though its proponents claim it is equal to the Art of Magic, the Art is a noble, dignified and sober affair, whereas witchcraft is infamously prurient, consisting as it does entirely of drunkenness, naked debauchery, orgies and lesbianism.¡±


    ¡ªDenrick Roth, Witches


    </blockquote>


    <h2>Ducal Palace, Auldenheigh</h2>


    Enerlend province, Garanhir earthmote 09.05.15.11.11


    Ellaenie was proud of her workshop. In the months since she¡¯d first resumed her magical studies, she¡¯d done much to cut out some of the frippery and distractions. The library had been trimmed down, removing the drier and more pompous tomes in favor only of those her expert advisors agreed were truly necessary to learning the Art.


    The Art. She¡¯d seen in one of her books that magic was traditionally divided between Art¡ªthe magic of enchantment, infusion, evocation and imbuement as practiced by mages, navigators and other academics¡ªand the Craft, which the author of that book had rather snootily dismissed as ¡°hedge magic¡± and ¡°witchcraft.¡± She hadn¡¯t really seen why such a division would exist, before.


    One conversation with Thaighn Saoirse and the Herald Rheannach had been thoroughly educational in that regard. There was an extra layer of conversation and understanding passing between them that Ellaenie could sense, in a muffled, distant, conversation-in-the-next-room sort of way. But Saoirse had pulled her into it as well, somehow. Had¡­read her.


    Ellaenie was teetering in that odd state of mind somewhere between excited and scared. What would her people think of having a witch-duchess? What would become of Enerlend as she studied?


    But on the other hand¡­what could she be for Enerlend, if she took this path?


    ¡°Well¡­here it is.¡± She stepped aside and swept an arm around the room, feeling awfully like a little girl showing a visiting cousin around her playroom. ¡°It¡¯s, um¡­¡±


    ¡°Very well-appointed indeed,¡± Rheannach commented, smiling as she took in the room¡¯s accoutrements. ¡°You have a lovely magestone collection.¡±


    ¡°I¡­honestly, I¡¯m worried it¡¯s a little gaudy,¡± Ellaenie confessed, despite the glow that lit inside her at being complimented by a Herald.


    ¡°¡¯Tis ducal,¡± Saoirse commented. ¡°The Garanese expect pomp an¡¯ finery from their duchess. An¡¯ to practice the Craft is to be yersen¡¯, fully an¡¯ whole. Ye¡¯ve no need tae apologise for this side of yerself, my girl.¡±


    My girl, Ellaenie noted. It seemed the unspoken contract she¡¯d entered into with these two women was going to involve a degree of familiarity she wasn¡¯t used to. Was that a Craenen thing? A witch thing? Or was it just how these sorts of things went, outside the strictures of ducal etiquette? The truth was, she¡¯d not really had the opportunity to experience a different kind of life.


    ¡°Surely there¡¯s more to it than just being myself?¡±


    Rheannach giggled softly as she trailed a finger along the bookshelf, inspecting the titles. ¡°You say just as though being yourself is a simple and small thing.¡±


    Ellaenie frowned at her, confused, then at Saoirse when the thaighn gave a soft cackle.


    ¡°This is always the tricky part wi¡¯ young women,¡± she said indulgently, taking a seat of her own and pulling her tartan around her shoulders for warmth. ¡°Who are ye?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m¡­Ellaenie?¡±


    ¡°Good start. But who is Ellaenie?¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s¡­the duchess of Enerlend?¡±


    ¡°Is she, now? Well, well. And is that all she is?¡±


    ¡°Well, I¡­no. I mean. I like magic, and dancing, and chess¡ª¡±


    ¡°Oh, so Ellaenie is the things Ellaenie likes, then?¡± Saoirse leaned forward, her blue eyes turning penetrating. ¡°And Ellaenie is her duty to her people, and Ellaenie is her fine dresses and jewels, and she¡¯s this grand palace and its lovely genteel gardens. Ellaenie is a noble who¡¯s never worked a hard day¡¯s turn in her life and wouldn¡¯t know what tae do with a pitchfork if the stable boy burst in right now and handed it over. But she¡¯s also the girl who hunted down her parents¡¯ murderers and was there to watch their heads drop intae the basket.¡±


    She tilted her head in an oddly avian way, quite crow-like. ¡°What did ye feel when ye saw them die, girl?¡±


    There was a long silence broken only by the crackle of the fire. Finally, Ellaenie exhaled and broke it. ¡°¡­Nothing.¡±


    ¡°Nothing at all? Truly? Those were people, who did what they deemed right and died at your word. And ye felt nothing?¡±


    ¡°I thought we were talking about who I am?¡±


    ¡°We are, girl.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d rather you didn¡¯t call me ¡®girl,¡¯¡± Ellaenie said, feeling suddenly like she should assert herself.


    ¡°Then I shan¡¯t.¡± Saoirse sat back in her chair and rested her hands lightly on her cane. ¡°Now, do ye see what ye just did?¡±


    ¡°I¡­no.¡± Ellaenie shook her head, feeling quite lost by now.


    ¡°Ye changed the world, a tiny bit. Ye changed me. Ye demanded the respect due to ye, and bade me remember my manners. Ye changed the world before, when ye had the murderers executed. So who are ye?¡±


    ¡°¡­I¡¯m¡­the thing that changes the world?¡±


    ¡°And is changed by it in turn,¡± Rheannach added. ¡°Or at least, that¡¯s part of it.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m¡­that which thinks and feels.¡±


    ¡°Carry on.¡±


    Ellaenie thought for a moment longer, then shrugged and shook her head. ¡°I¡­need a hint.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve already been given one. Saoirse wasn¡¯t mocking you earlier, she spoke the truth.¡±


    ¡°Huh?¡± Ellaenie frowned at the thaighn, who gave her a sly, grandmotherly wink.


    ¡°Go on, dear. You¡¯re gettin¡¯ this right quick.¡±


    ¡°¡­You mean¡­I am the duchess, and my friends, and the things I like, and all the rest of it? I thought you were¡ª¡±


    ¡°Aye, a little bait-and-switch on my part. But that¡¯s just it. Ye are those things, and ye are what binds them together. Ye are will, and feeling, and thought, and memory. To try and unweave a person from what she does and the life she¡¯s led and the experience she¡¯s had and the people she cares for is nonsense. Ye are all of it at once.¡±


    ¡°So. Just being yourself, was it?¡± Rheannach had a handsome, indulgent smirk that creased her eyes.


    ¡°I think I get the point,¡± Ellaenie replied, carefully. There was, for a moment, silence broken only by the crackle of disintegrating firewood, and the ticking of the wall clock.


    ¡°¡­Ye really felt nothing?¡± Saoirse asked gently. Ellaenie paused, then flopped down in the last remaining armchair.


    ¡°I remember thinking¡­it all seemed pointless,¡± she said. ¡°Like all I wanted was my parents back, and exacting justice against the killers wasn¡¯t going to achieve that, so why did I even bother? I didn¡¯t feel guilty, or vengeful, or satisfied, or anything. I just felt...empty.¡±


    Rheannach leaned forward, her expression sympathetic. ¡°What do you feel now? What would you do, now?¡±


    ¡°Oh, they¡¯d¡­they¡¯d still go to the block. They had to, you don¡¯t kill people that way. You don¡¯t arrange to have them Taken. That¡¯s a line nobody gets to cross. But that¡¯s what had to happen. It wasn¡¯t what I wanted. What I wanted could never happen.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Rheannach agreed, sadly.


    Ellaenie sighed heavily, then thought about who she was talking to. Rheannach didn¡¯t have parents. She¡¯d been woven into being alongside the worlds themselves, created by King E?rrach to be his companion and bride. What a different perspective she must have¡­what a source of pain she¡¯d never felt.


    Rheannach met her gaze, and half-smiled, as though she could almost read Ellaenie¡¯s mind.


    I almost can.


    Ellaenie jolted to her feet out of sheer surprise. ¡°What-?!¡±


    ¡°That was cruel,¡± Saoirse chided her friend, with a laugh in her voice.


    ¡°I-I¡­¡± Ellaenie cleared her throat. She knew of telepathy spells, of course. The Navigators used them to receive updates to their charts and tables, or as a kind of messaging service for ship captains and guilds. But she¡¯d never been on the receiving end of one, before. And she¡¯d certainly never heard of mind-reading.


    ¡°It¡¯s not mind reading,¡± Rheannach told her. ¡°It¡¯s Witch-Sight. Looking past the superficial to infer the unspoken, the subtext, the ommitted and the privately held. You¡¯re actually rather good at it already.¡±


    ¡°Father taught me a lot about politics,¡± Ellaenie admitted.


    ¡°Aye, that¡¯d be good preparation, ¡®tis true,¡± Saoirse agreed. ¡°So. We¡¯ll ease ye in to your learnin¡¯ o¡¯ the Craft by pullin¡¯ on that thread, I¡¯d say. An¡¯ given the nature o¡¯ yer worries about this church o¡¯ Oneists, mayhap the Sight will be the tool ye¡¯ll need most in the days to come.¡±


    ¡°Agreed,¡± Rheannach nodded. She picked up pen and paper, and started to scrawl something. ¡°Fortunately, the Art¡¯s notation is of some use here. It won¡¯t be as you progress deeper into the Craft, but¡­¡±


    The pen scratched a few seconds more, and then she handed it over. Ellaenie touched her finger to the beginning. It was quite basic, really: Upper clavis, second mundane form, waxing arcanum. The first stanza indicated to draw moderately upon her own inner energy rather than from a magestone, strike the correct form, and then hold it in readiness. Like playing middle C on the piano at mezzo-forte, and then¡­doing nothing with it. Just sitting there. An utterly trivial bit of magic, not even a spell. More like the preparation to cast.


    ¡°I don¡¯t understand.¡±


    ¡°Try it.¡±


    Ellaenie shrugged, and did so. It was barely an effort.


    ¡°Good. Now the tricky part to all of this is to hold onto the magic and feel how it responds to the world around you. You¡¯re not casting it on anyone or anything, you¡¯re simply¡­holding it. Letting it resonate with what you see. But pay attention to it.¡±


    ¡°How do ye feel?¡± Saoirse asked, watching Ellaenie with interest.


    ¡°Uncertain,¡± Ellaenie confessed.


    ¡°What¡¯s the magic doing?¡± The thaighn asked.


    ¡°It¡¯s¡­.sitting there.¡±


    ¡°Going still? Becoming calm?¡±


    ¡°Uh, yes. Kind of smooth and flat. Like¡­a mirror, or a calm pond.¡±


    ¡°Aye, exactly. Ripples an¡¯ reflections, that¡¯s what ye¡¯re looking for. Not from what I say and do, but from what ye feel about what I say and do. Allow it to magnify the impressions ye get.¡±


    Ellaenie considered that for a second, then gave the old woman a studious look over. Saoirse was sitting forward in her chair, one hand resting lightly atop the other on her cane and her face carefully neutral. At first blush, there was nothing for Ellaenie to see¡­


    But the magical charge she was holding seemed to¡­want something. It nudged her, somehow, like a friend at a ball touching her elbow and then slyly glancing across the room. Some detail of Saoirse¡¯s hands, something small and easily overlooked¡­


    Trying to focus on holding the charge and inspecting Saoirse was too much. The magic flickered, slipped from her control, and escaped in a small randomized jolt that briefly had her feeling like the whole world had turned crystalline and sharp. The impression faded, leaving behind only a sense of full-body stinging, and Saoirse¡¯ sympathetic nod.


    ¡°¡¯Tis not easy. Ye would have stunned me had ye managed it first time.¡±


    ¡°I definitely felt something¡­¡± Ellaenie said, glancing at Rheannach.


    ¡°You did wonderfully. Just remember, focus on the magic. Keep it steady and still, and let it do the work. Care to try again?¡±


    Ellaenie nodded fervently. She was hungry to learn, hungry to discover, hungry to be more. Not just for herself, but for the sake of her people. So she summoned the energy again, held it like a cup and saucer at tea, and let it carry her.


    And this time, it opened her eyes.


    <hr>


    <blockquote>


    ¡°The elvish language, Feydh, is notoriously both easy to grasp the basics of, and indecently difficult to master. The Feydh vocabulary is tiny in comparison to any human language, with each word denoting a vast territory of related concepts which are then differentiated through subtle and at-times contradictory rules of context, tone, body language and inflection that a human could only hope to master quite late in a lifetime of study.


    To give one example, the Elvish word ¡®Idh¡¯ refers, broadly, to communication, and indeed can literally mean ¡®communication¡¯ if one uses it as a noun, applies the upward tone and hardens the ¡°dh¡± sound. Use the downward tone with uptick and soften the ¡°dh,¡± however, and you will have said ¡®conspiracy¡¯ or ¡®secret,¡¯ depending on context.¡±


    ¡ªDenrick Roth, Elves


    </blockquote>


    <h2>Dockside, Long Drop City</h2>


    Ajhazra, Alakbir Earthmote, Sayf 09.06.03.06.05


    Jerl¡¯s whole body was crawling like he had an ant nest in his pocket. Surely, any second now, Civorage would figure out how to undo what Mouse had done, break the veil of protection that Mind had granted them¡­


    But no. They were being left alone.


    It was more than just the usual anonymity of being one ship¡¯s crew in a city that saw a dozen ships come and go on any given day. This was eerie, forced. People made room for them, got out of their way, but didn¡¯t look at them. Street vendors would pause in their hawking and look around while Jerl¡¯s group passed, as though the street was empty.


    Even though they were carrying a wounded man on a litter, with his shirt soaked in blood.


    Mouse touched Jerl¡¯s arm as a group of watchmen in Clear Skies guild livery patrolled past them and didn¡¯t so much as glance in their direction.


    ¡°Did¡­I do this?¡±


    ¡°Yup.¡± Jerl watched a cat blink at him lazily as they passed it. When it noticed his attention, it turned and poured itself off the wall it had been sitting on, flowed up the side of a building, and vanished. Not everything was affected, then. ¡°Are you okay?¡±


    ¡°Not really¡­.¡± Mouse fidgeted. ¡°It¡¯s¡­loud. I¡¯m trying to block it out, but the longer I hold on to this thing, the more I feel like I could¡­I could reach out and count every mind in the worlds.¡±


    ¡°Alright, we¡¯ll deal with it. We just need to get away first. Can you hold on?¡±


    Mouse nodded, mutely.


    Jerl squeezed his shoulder. ¡°You¡¯re doing great. C¡¯mon. The Queen is this way.¡±


    Mouse nodded. ¡°Bay twelve. Last time, they left a hook in the bag. Got to check that this time. Got to get some fuel aboard too. They¡¯ll probably leave us alone. Just hope the crew aren¡¯t affected¡­¡± he groaned, staggered, and leaned against the wall. ¡°Too much. It¡¯s too much!¡±


    Jerl gestured sharply for the others to carry on ahead, and stopped. They slipped past him and bore Whisker onward toward the ship, while around them the rest of humanity simply acted as though they didn¡¯t exist. ¡°Look at me, Mouse. Focus on me. Only me.¡±


    Mouse¡¯s icy blue eyes met his own, and¡ª


    For a moment, the barriers between minds fell away completely. But of the two of them, Mouse was by far the more powerful: his mind was blinding, overwhelming, like straying too close to the blast from a furnace. He tore into Jerl¡¯s thoughts and memories without even really wanting or meaning to, it was just that to the Word of Creation, a mind as tiny and limited as Jerl¡¯s was hardly any more complex than a moth¡¯s¡­And moths strayed close to candle flames at their peril.


    But there was something in Jerl¡¯s memories that nobody else had, and which Mouse desperately needed: how to let go.


    Jerl didn¡¯t fight it. He laid himself bare, allowed Mouse to read him, in his entirety. Some instinct, some prescience that had nothing to do with Time, told him this was the only way they all got out of this alive and sane. He opened himself up and trusted.


    Confused images flashed through his brain, secrets he¡¯d forgotten, memories he¡¯d left neglected until they faded, intrusive thoughts he¡¯d never have voiced openly, like just how fucking gorgeous the young man in front of him was¡ª


    Then there was a feeling of something snapping, or releasing, or being yanked back. The all-too-familiar sense of unlimited power rushed back out of Mouse¡¯s soul and back into the box he¡¯d been clutching in white knuckles this entire time.


    What remained was Mouse. Staring at him with a face full of trauma and shame.


    ¡°I-I¡¯m sorry!¡± he babbled. ¡°I didn¡¯t¡­I couldn¡¯t not¡ª!¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s okay. I know.¡± Jerl nodded fervently, and squeezed Mouse¡¯s shoulder again. ¡°You okay now?¡±


    ¡°¡­Better. I think I¡¯ve got it. I¡¯ve kept¡­enough. I think.¡±


    Jerl looked around. They were still being left alone it seemed, so Mouse had at least kept that much. Which he was not going to argue with, right now. ¡°Alright. Come on. Sooner we¡¯re out of here, sooner we can talk.¡±


    ¡°I¡­¡± Mouse hesitated, then nodded. ¡°Sure.¡±


    Sure enough, the Cavalier Queen was sitting pretty and unmolested, right where he¡¯d left her. He trotted up the gangplank and gave the gunwale a fond pat-pat as he came aboard. ¡°They been treatin¡¯ you right, girl?¡±


    The ship, which was after all still sitting there under lift tension with her keel deadbolted to the docking gantry, tipped and creaked slightly under a subtle change of weight or shift of the wind. Jerl chose to interpret it as a noncommittal shrug.


    No hook in the bag this time, he noted with satisfaction. It seemed bribing Bellarn had actually worked. Now, the only thing to worry about was whether the crew would get back and the ship could get underway before Civorage returned from wherever in the worlds the Street Rats¡¯ ship had led him to.


    They¡¯d planned to have more than enough time for that. But Jerl knew from more grim experience than just these last few subjective days that when things went wrong, they did so fast.


    Well¡­nothing to do except prep for a rapid and unexpected departure. He took a swift round, tried to figure out what they¡¯d need. Fuel, obviously, and while there were several barrels stacked on the quay, they wouldn¡¯t suffice.


    The food supplies? Equally pathetic. Restocking to leave was usually a weeks-long process of calculating, ordering, marshalling and loading, and though Sin was the quartermaster Jerl still knew the numbers by heart: for a sixty day voyage they¡¯d need¡­let¡¯s see¡­half a ton of salt beef, another of salt pork, two tons of ship¡¯s biscuit, a thousand gallons of beer, two thousand of water, and¡­well, a lot of butter, cheese, oatmeal, peas, flour, suet, vinegar, dried stockfish, raisins, rum¡­


    Feeding his crew was easily the biggest part of Jerl¡¯s overheads on any given run. What little remained in the hold now had been adequate for the couple of days it had taken to run down to the Thundering Hall, but all the way to Il?yede? Not a chance.


    Premonition was driving him forward, though. Don¡¯t linger, it seemed to say. Run, now, and don¡¯t look back. Civorage is coming, and his wrath will be unbelievable. Your only hope is to go where he won¡¯t guess you¡¯ve gone.


    But where would that be?


    Well¡­all he could do was trust himself. For want of anything better to do, he grabbed Derghan and the two of them started rolling fuel barrels aboard, while around them the dockers all carried on as if nothing was happening.


    Sin and Amir worked fast, though. Within minutes, the first of the crew turned up in the form of Gebby, Marren and the twins.


    ¡°Mornin¡¯, Skipper. Mister Amir said we¡¯re going early, and it¡¯s urgent¡­.?¡± Marren shot the oblivious dockhands a curious look.


    ¡°Ignore them,¡± Jerl told him. ¡°Just get these onboard. If any of ¡®em give you trouble, there¡¯s a guy on board, name of Mouse, tell him to sort it out.¡±


    ¡°¡­Right, uh¡­Okay.¡±


    ¡°Where we goin¡¯ boss?¡± Gebby asked.


    ¡°Il?yede.¡± Jerl heaved another fuel barrel out of the stack and up onto his shoulder. ¡°And yes, I know we don¡¯t have the supplies to make it that far. We¡¯re gonna deal with that. But we can¡¯t stay here.¡±


    Gebby watched him for a second with a frown. ¡°¡­You were actin¡¯ weird earlier, you¡¯re actin¡¯ weird now. Are in some kinda trouble, Mister Holten?¡±


    ¡°Huge. And, I¡¯m sorry to say, big enough to wrap up everyone involved with me, for which I¡¯m sorry, Geb. I¡¯ll explain once we¡¯re afloat.¡±


    Gebrahim twisted the point of his beard around his finger, then shrugged, nodded, and headed on up the ramp.


    That was more or less the tune of it as the rest of the crew came filtering back over the course of the next three hours. Jerl, conscientiously, left out exact payment for all the provisions they scavenged from the docks and the harbour fee¡­nobody even glanced at the unnatended money.


    Well. His own conscience was clean, at least.


    He found Amir and Sin waiting for him in the cabin, poring over Amir¡¯s charts.


    ¡°You two got somewhere for us to resupply?¡±


    Sin grimaced and shook her head. ¡°Easier said than done. Civorage has the money and influence to find us at every major port we can reach.¡±


    ¡°Even on iron rations and if the Crowns themselves put the right winds at our back, there¡¯s nowhere we can reach he won¡¯t find us before the Church of the One finds us,¡± Amir agreed. ¡°I don¡¯t think I appreciated just how far their reach has grown since they first formed.¡±


    Jerl nodded grimly, and cast a wistful look at the map. If they really tightened their belts, they could make it to Garanhir¡¯s leading edge, and his family¡­


    But Civorage had Mind and the power to control and influence from far away, and the Church of the One was well-established on Garanhir. No, the safest thing for his mother, sisters and cousins was to stay well away from them and give the Church no reason to bother them.


    Well¡­fine. The time had come to try using the Word again, rather than just rely on the premonitions he¡¯d left himself in its fullest flourish. Jerl shut his eyes, took a deep breath, and imagined the future as a series of paths through the woods. Some of those paths led into a bear¡¯s den, or over a cliff. But some few¡­


    The power coiled in his mind, but stubbornly refused to yield its secrets. Not yet. The time wasn¡¯t right.


    Well¡­fine. Go with his gut. ¡°Where¡¯s the nearest place can we grab supplies fast?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Nearest place?¡± Amir tapped a spot on the map, rapping his painted fingernail on it. ¡°There¡¯s an Outer Worlds guild outpost further around the Alakbir edge cliffs, about three days from here.¡±


    ¡°Good. We won¡¯t completely stock up, just grab and run. Let¡¯s go with that.¡±


    ¡°Doable¡­¡± Sin conceded with a wobble of her head. ¡°But if we¡¯re not careful which ports we grab from, we¡¯ll draw a line pointing straight toward Il?yede.¡±


    ¡°I should be able to jink and dodge a bit to throw them off our scent,¡± Amir predicted. ¡°And you never know, this protection young Mouse gave us might last.¡±


    ¡°Maybe¡­¡± Jerl conceded. ¡°I have a feeling things aren¡¯t going to shake out the way we think, though.¡±


    ¡°Premonition?¡±


    Jerl shook his head no. ¡°Paranoia.¡±


    ¡°I trust that even more,¡± Sin declared. ¡°¡­And unless I miss my guess, that¡¯s Andony come to tell us we¡¯re ready to get gone, nay?¡±


    She tilted her head toward the cabin door, moments before Marren knocked on it.


    ¡°All aboard and ready to depart, skipper,¡± he reported, poking his head through.


    ¡°Thanks, chief. Amir, you brief Gebby. Sin, go tell Derghan to spin ¡®er up.¡±


    A small flicker of a smile shot across her face as she nodded. Jerl followed his navigator and rigging chief out onto the deck: the riggers had already finished repressurizing the bag to flight load, and the ropes were ready to cast off. Even as he stepped to the helm there was a jolt through his feet as the huge steel bolt holding the Queen in place was levered back and out. There was a lurch, a sway, a creak of rope and wood.


    The last of the men scrambled up the ramp and rejoined them just as the engines wheezed, coughed, then roared.


    Out of paranoia, Jerl looked up at the bag one last time, just in case. Still no hook.


    ¡°Astern one-quarter, Mister At-Manza,¡± he told Gebby. ¡°Take her out, quick as you can if you please.¡±


    ¡°Quarter astern, aye aye¡­¡±


    Jerl put his hand on the wheelhouse and watched as they backed out into open sky, and the full wide, flat brown shelf of Long Drop City unfurled in front of him.


    There were steps on the deck next to him: Ju-Wi, and Mouse. Both of them stood and watched as the Cavalier Queen turned and climbed, moving to the rail to keep the city in sight for as long as possible.


    For once, Ju-Wi seemed sombre and grim.


    ¡°Been my home for twelve years. Only home I ever really felt like I fit,¡± she commented, when Jerl joined them.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± Jerl said, sympathetically.


    ¡°Yeah, it¡¯s shit. But¡­better to leave as a free woman than stay as a slave,¡± Ju-Wi shrugged, and tapped the Yunei exile brand on her forehead.


    ¡°Are things really that bad in the Empire?¡±


    ¡°The worst cages are those where the bars are disguised as blessings.¡± Ju-Wi watched a coil of cloud obscure the city, then stretched up on tip-toe to hawk and spit over the side. ¡°Or so I thought. This Civorage yusha-lao wa mah o-tse de guishu might just have my countrymen beat.¡±


    ¡°Dare I ask what that means?¡±


    ¡°Born even though his mother conceived the wrong way.¡± Ju-Wi shot him her signature gap-toothed lecherous grin. ¡°Loses something in translation, right? Means she took it up the arse and shit him out anyway.¡±


    ¡°¡­Cankuu¡¯s cock, that¡¯s not half bad.¡±


    ¡°Hey, the Yunei devote themselves to perfection in everything we do. Including insults.¡± She chuckled again, then clapped Jerl companionably on the arm. ¡°Don¡¯t worry about me. Just find me a job to do, yeah? I¡¯m a decent cook, when I¡¯m not nipping a bung¡­¡±


    ¡°Can you make our supplies stretch?¡± Jerl asked.


    ¡°Shit, I¡¯d¡¯ve been dead years ago if I couldn¡¯t make do with only a little. I¡¯ll have a look, see what I can manage.¡±


    That just left Jerl alone with Mouse again, who hadn¡¯t spoken a word. He was still looking back toward the city, even though the ship¡¯s rise and turn had long since taken it out of sight.


    ¡°How¡¯s your dad?¡± Jerl asked him, after a minute.


    ¡°Comfortable. Alive¡­¡± Mouse looked down at the deck for a moment. ¡°¡­I saw what happened to yours. I¡¯m sorry.¡±


    ¡°Yeah.¡± Jerl leaned on the gunwale and looked out at the clouds. ¡°Guess you saw a lot, huh?¡±


    ¡°Yeah.¡± Mouse took a deep, shuddering breath and let it out, then gave Jerl a complex look. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. I didn¡¯t want to¡ª¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s okay,¡± Jerl promised him. ¡°I¡¯ve got nothing to hide. There¡¯s no skeletons in my closet, no dark secrets¡­and besides. I let you in, remember?¡±


    Mouse was silent a second, staring vacantly at nothing. Just as Jerl was wondering if he should break the silence or leave the younger man alone, he cleared his throat and looked Jerl in the eye.


    ¡°Nobody¡¯s ever opened up to me like that before. Everyone I know has a secret, loves secrets. Dad does. Ju-Wi and Imdura do. But you¡­you just opened the door for me, when I needed it, even though it¡¯d cost you every secret you have.¡±


    ¡°Did you find any?¡±


    ¡°No. That¡¯s the bit I can¡¯t wrap my head around. You¡­really don¡¯t have anything to hide, do you?¡±


    ¡°Oh, I bite my tongue to be polite just like the next fella,¡± Jerl shrugged. ¡°But¡­no. I¡¯ve got my ship, I¡¯ve got my crew, I¡¯ve got people I care about and who care about me. There¡¯s not a lot I want for, really.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s got to be something, though?¡±


    Jerl shrugged. ¡°A quick end to all this Words of Creation nonsense so I can get back to just enjoying life would be nice. That and maybe a warm body in my bunk¡­¡±


    To his immense satisfaction, Mouse laughed, turned a little red in the face, and looked down. ¡°That¡­does sound nice.¡±


    ¡°Mhm.¡± There was nothing more to say. Mouse had already had a good look inside Jerl¡¯s head and seen everything there was to see. Which honestly sounded like a bad time, to Jerl. He certainly couldn¡¯t think of anyone he¡¯d want to know in such a way, not even the people closest to him.


    ¡°Haven¡¯t you got a ship to run?¡± Mouse asked after a moment.


    ¡°True.¡±


    ¡°You should probably.¡±


    ¡°I should probably,¡± Jerl agreed. ¡°But later, I want to talk about what you¡¯ve kept of the Word, and about what we¡¯re going to do with that box you¡¯re still carrying. We¡¯re going to need to know what you can do. Besides getting an entire city to ignore us, I mean.¡±


    ¡°I hope it¡¯s just one city. But fine, yes. We¡¯ll talk later¡­¡± Mouse swayed away from the gunwale and nodded, then frowned at something in the distance. ¡°What¡¯s that?¡±


    Jerl turned to look. After a second, he fished in the case on his belt and produced his telescope.


    What he saw through it took his worries away in a rush of utter relief. Up ahead, drifting through a cloud bank, was an earthmote. A rogue earthmote, so vanishingly tiny that if Mouse hadn¡¯t happened to glance in the right direction, they would very likely have flown past it and never known it existed.


    That all by itself was nothing to get excited about. The sky was full of such drifting pebbles, and they were easily missed, in all senses. Nobody would even think to take note of its passing.


    But this one had something that most didn¡¯t. In the middle of its flat back surrounded by farms, a windmill, and a mooring mast, sat an inn. Which meant this was a wandering isle, one of the tiny earthmotes that pinballed around the worlds, sticking for a few days to the major landmasses it encountered. This one had probably just parted ways with Alakbir and was now going somewhere else.


    In ages past, before the invention of the airship, wandering isles were the only way to travel from mote to mote, and had been home to a whole civilization of people whose lives consisted of providing hospitality and supplies to travelers who wished to ride on their isle, to wherever it took them.


    Few people bothered with them, nowadays. Why would you, when an airship could make the voyage more directly, predictably and dependably? But the Islekeepers endured, living as they always had: in comfort, wherever the wind took them. And there would always be enough people using their services to keep the coin flowing.


    Including, now, the crew of the Cavalier Queen. Jerl retracted his telescope and put it away.


    ¡°That,¡± he said, ¡°is exactly the miracle we needed.¡±


    Even as he said it though, he knew it was no miracle. It was his own doing, the premonitions he¡¯d left for himself pointing him in just the right direction for this stroke of apparent luck to happen. But who was he to look a gift from himself in the mouth? Jerl grinned, darted away from the rail, and went to grab Gebby and point him toward the mote.


    Though part of him did wish he could be there to see the anger on Civorage¡¯s face when he realized they¡¯d slipped away again¡­


    <hr>


    <blockquote>


    ¡°Those who practice the ¡®Craft,¡¯ if they can ever be distracted from their fornication long enough to voice an opinion, will generally assert that they are attempting to ¡®commune with the worlds¡¯ and ¡®embrace nature.¡¯ They are, in short, wholeheartedly rejecting civilization and all its virtues.¡±


    ¡ªDenrick Roth,Witches


    </blockquote>


    <h2>The Auld Forest</h2>


    Enerlend Province, Garanhir Earthmote 09.05.15.12.02


    When Saoirse and Rheannach had asked her to wear something rugged that she could sleep in for several days, Ellaenie had struggled at first. Ducal life meant she hadn¡¯t worn the same outfit two days in a row since¡­well, ever!


    Rugged she could do, though. In fact, her nice hard-wearing riding ensemble in tweed was easily the easiest, simplest clothing she had. She didn¡¯t even need a lady-in-waiting to help her dress!


    It seemed to pass muster, anyway. Saoirse simply looked her up and down, shrugged, nodded, and mounted her horse.


    Well. Not her horse. He was one of Ellaenie¡¯s, a handsome Betlend Cob gelding by the name of Sidan. But he was her horse for the duration of her stay, and Saoirse had won his instant and undying loyalty the moment they met by sneaking him a mint humbug.


    Ellaenie for her part was riding Rosewild, a rather more feisty creature than Sidan who¡¯d been her favorite since she was twelve.


    Rheannach needed no horse. Among her many powers was the gift of shape-changing, and Ellaenie had grown up on nursery stories of Rheannach taking raven form: to actually see it for herself was¡­


    What a thing it was to be able to call a Herald her friend and mentor.


    This trip out into the Auld Forest was no mere pleasant ride in the country, there was purpose to it. They were performing a ritual, apparently. Exactly what ritual, neither Saoirse nor Rheannach had shared, but they promised it was important.


    They had also insisted it must happen privately. Ordinarily, Ellaenie couldn¡¯t go anywhere in private, given that she was the duchess and her entourage wherever she went was necessarily enormous, but they¡¯d managed to work out a compromise. The entourage would be nearby, rather than directly with them.


    Lord Drevin had been instrumental in securing that. He, of course, was the one person besides Ellaenie who knew the secret of who ¡°Calyah¡± really was. His say-so as Ellaenie¡¯s spymaster and as a colonel of the Enerlend armies had done much to make things easier.


    All of which was how, after riding for two days without a proper rest, bath or change of clothing, Ellaenie came to slip down from Rosewild¡¯s back feeling saddle-sore and tired, but also eager.


    One day had been enough to reach the edge of the Auld Forest, where the waters of the river Heigh stopped the trees from coming any further. They¡¯d made camp on the banks, with Ellaenie rather enjoying the novel experience of having to set up her own tent, light the campfire and cook her own dinner.


    Progress into the forest was a different matter. The woods were well-used of course: they were part of the public commons, maintained by foresters to supply wood for the city, picked over by herbalists and foragers and haunted by hunters. This was a living, civilized forest, one that was just as much a part of Enerlend¡¯s economy as any mine, quarry or stockyard. So, for much of its interior, there were trails to follow.


    But not all of the Auld Forest was like that, according to Rheannach.


    ¡°People have good instincts,¡± she explained. She was back in human form for now, walking alongside Rosewild while Ellaenie rode side-saddle and listened. ¡°There are places in the forest set aside for other purposes. Not by any decree or treaty, but because they¡¯re sacred.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re going to one such?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s right.¡±


    ¡°What¡­exactly is it that makes a place sacred?¡± Ellaenie asked.


    ¡°You¡¯ve never felt it yourself?¡±


    Ellaenie shrugged.


    ¡°She grew up in a palace, remember,¡± Saoirse commented. ¡°This here¡¯s the first time our duchess maiden will e¡¯er set foot in the wilds.¡±


    Rheannach nodded thoughtfully, then looked around them. ¡°You wouldn¡¯t catch my husband dead in this neck of the woods,¡± she said.


    ¡°Why not?¡±


    ¡°Too tame. This is the next best thing to a cobbled street, though it may not look it. Look, you see the fruit bushes along the trail?¡±


    ¡°Yes?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s the work of generations of foragers. The trail itself tells of hundreds of feet a month passing this way. The grove we¡¯re going to¡­only witches would even know what to do with it.¡±


    ¡°And what¡¯s that?¡± Ellaenie asked.


    ¡°Ach, haven¡¯t ye read it in your books?¡± Saoirse asked, in the light tone that told Ellaenie she was about to be teased mercilessly. ¡°Why, we sup of strange mushroom tea and dance naked in the night!¡±


    ¡°Both of which are a lot of fun,¡± Rheannach added.


    ¡°Wait¡­you¡¯re serious? You don¡¯t actually¡ª?¡± Ellaenie asked, a little shocked.


    ¡°Of course I do. Why not? I mean, it¡¯s not why we¡¯re here, but you definitely should.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡±


    Rheannach stopped walking, and Rosewild halted with her. She looked up at Ellaenie with a curiously intense expression. ¡°You¡¯ve been raised in a world of gems and silks and finery and people waiting on you hand and foot. I won¡¯t call you spoiled, but you are¡­out of touch. Not just with the natural world, but with an important part of yourself.¡±


    ¡°What part is that?¡±


    ¡°That you are a wild animal yourself, my dear.¡±


    Ellaenie frowned at her, then down at her own riding outfit. ¡°I thought one of the important things about thinking beings is that we¡¯re not wild animals.¡±


    ¡°Then ye haven¡¯t paid close attention,¡± Saoirse commented. ¡°The wild¡¯s always just under the skin, darling. When a man loses himself in the killin¡¯ o¡¯ battle, when the newlyweds lose themselves in the makin¡¯ o¡¯ new life, when the children are threatened an¡¯ a harmless mother becomes a bear¡­or in your case, when the young lose yourselves in the joy o¡¯ learning. ¡®Tis all nature.¡±


    ¡°Human beings do themselves a great disservice to lose touch with their wildness,¡± Rheannach agreed.


    ¡°What about the elves? Have you ever seen the Empires of the Dead? I¡¯m sure the elves of Vathelan would have said it was nature for them to enjoy skinning their slaves alive.¡±


    ¡°Those were dark days,¡± Rheannach agreed. ¡°They took the cruelty that lurks naturally in every heart and embraced it in ways they never should have. But that was a case of going too far, and an excess of restraint and self-denial is just as dangerous. Tell me, when in your life have you ever truly made yourself vulnerable?¡±


    Ellaenie frowned. ¡°¡­Why would I?¡±


    ¡°Ach. Spoken like a follower o¡¯ the Art,¡± Saoirse lamented. ¡°Power, power, power, that¡¯s all the Art sees. Ye¡¯re a witch now, lass. And if ye¡¯re to be a good one, ye need to know just how vulnerability can reshape the world.¡±


    ¡°There is deep, unattainable power in it,¡± Rheannach elaborated. ¡°The give and take of life, to dominate and submit, to protect and to receive¡­you must master both. If you can¡¯t throw off your cloak and stand gloriously bare in front of existence itself, you can¡¯t ever truly be humble when it comes time to wield power. After all,¡± she added, stroking Rosewild¡¯s nose. ¡°How can a ruler be wise if she does not know what it is like to be ruled?¡±


    ¡°Besides. Some kinds o¡¯ vulnerability are a lot o¡¯ fun¡­as yer husband will one day teach ye if he¡¯s worth marryin¡¯,¡± Saoirse added, throwing in a lecherous smile that left Ellaenie¡¯s face burning pink.


    Rheannach giggled at her discomfort, then indicated off the trail. ¡°Come on. Here is where we part ways with the horses.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯ll be safe?¡± Ellaenie fretted.


    ¡°Perfectly, I promise you.¡±


    They plunged into the trailless brush. Far from catching and snagging on her skirt or on the other two¡¯s tartans however, the brambles and branches always seemed to bend just the right way. It wasn¡¯t anything so dramatic as a path opening for them, but still the forest seemed to let them in.


    ¡°¡­Is this witch-magic, or herald-magic?¡±


    ¡°Witchcraft. Not my doing, either,¡± Rheannach replied. ¡°This is all Saoirse.¡±


    Ellaenie glanced at their coven¡¯s beldame, who gave her a smug look and tapped the ground with her walking stick. It was quite a handsome one, in the odd fashion favored by the Craenen: polished smooth from both dilligent craftsmanship and long use, with a forked flare at the top for its bearer to rest their thumb, and a leather wrap about a third of the way down which Saoirse had decorated with bird bones and feathers.


    Fetishes, she called them. They served much the same function as a magestone, with the critical difference that they had once been part of something living. Ellaenie had struggled with them, so far. A magestone¡¯s energy was very¡­clean, like a properly glazed stoneware cup that could hold water without flavoring it. Fetishes, though, altered the energy they held. Flavored it, added their own distinctiveness. An Artisan would call the magic they stored polluted: Saoirse called it aspected.


    Just one of the many ways in which pivoting from studying the Art to studying the Craft had proven difficult. Ellaenie was having to un-learn much of what she learned, even while she used it to make sense of what she was learning.


    The Craft was living, though. Changing, flowing, emotional, muddy, dirty, organic and intuitive. One didn¡¯t control the Craft so much as persuade it. And Saoirse, she¡¯d quickly learned, was a lifelong master of persuasion.


    So, the plants obligingly offered no resistance, the roots politely failed to trip them, and what Ellaenie had feared would be an hours-long slog through the underbrush instead was almost a stroll.


    The forest was very different, here. Rheannach was right, even a few hundred yards off the path the texture of it changed dramatically. These woods were older, untouched, unbothered by human hand. As often as not, their path was dictated by the lie of long-fallen deadwood as by the still-standing living trunks. The air carried smells that Ellaenie couldn¡¯t identify, mossy and musky and grassy and animal.


    More than that, though, it carried a feeling of age. As though this place had been much like this from the First Day, and all the worlds had spun on around it without ever touching here.


    Well¡­not quite. Their destination, which they entered quite abruptly, was a cleft in the ground where the soil was too shallow and stony for anything significant to take root. There was grass, and a scattering of wildflowers, but little more.


    The stones had been carved by human hand. To Ellaenie¡¯s eyes, the carvings looked scratchy and crude, as though whoever made them had been gripped with the fervent need to communicate but had no artistic or literate education to draw upon. Primitive stick figures formed a circle of supplication around two other, larger figures: one was tall and broad, the body described by a thick triangle and the head adorned with¡­a crown? Antlers?


    The other, smaller, more feminine figure had wings, and held aloft a trio of circles, one of them broken. A chain.


    Rheannach sighed and cleaned a little moss off the stones. ¡°A place is sacred because people make it so,¡± she said. ¡°Their spirit echoes down through time, long after they¡¯re gone.¡±


    ¡°Is that¡­you?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s Raksuul. The version of me they worshipped. The chainbreaker goddess, the defiant voice. The weeping witch, who shed tears for them when no-one else would.¡± Rheannach looked briefly as though the memory might make her cry again. She sighed heavily again and stepped away from the carving. ¡°The elves were so cruel in those days¡­¡±


    ¡°And¡­your husband?¡±


    ¡°Yes. His wrath, once finally provoked¡­was unstoppable.¡±


    ¡°Why did he let it happen at all?¡±


    Rheannach didn¡¯t answer for a moment. her pause was thoughtful, as though she was staring into the past and remembering the faces who¡¯d carved this sketch in the stone. ¡°He has¡­immense respect for free will. I will not put words into his mouth, but it is genuine, and more than anything it is that respect which restrains his hand. For which we should be grateful. The Crowns have their domains, and power is his.¡±


    ¡°I thought they were equal in power?¡±


    ¡°It is a matter of perspective. Where it concerns us and this world they have made for us, each is equally responsible for it, in their own ways. But when it comes to the power of creation itself¡­.¡±


    ¡°Equal does¡¯nae mean the same, after all,¡± Saoirse pointed out.


    ¡°Yes. That is the essence of the Craft. The King is might incarnate, but what he does with it all is tempered by those he loves most. He is vastly more powerful than the other Crowns, but at the same time deeply dependent on their love and counsel. He is mightier than all of them, and nothing without them.¡±


    ¡°Just like with any throne,¡± Ellaenie realized.


    ¡°Exactly. There¡¯s more to creation than force and desire. The Crowns balance at the apex of power, and so they know better than anyone how carefully it must be used, and where it truly comes from.¡±


    ¡°But you intervened long before he did.¡±


    Rheannach shook her head no. ¡°All I did was give a haven to those who escaped, and treated them like they mattered. It was nothing, less than the least I could do. But at the same time it was the first crumb of true kindness they¡¯d ever known from somebody with power over them. So they worshipped me as though I¡¯d personally set them free.¡±


    She sighed heavily, lost in the memory. ¡°When the time came, when the human slaves finally managed to organize and grow and overthrow the Ordfey, that¡¯s when we all, Crowns and Heralds alike, made our displeasure known in full. But we only did it after the humans had already won their freedom, because if they did not reclaim mastery of their own fate, they would just be trading slavery under one power for slavery under another. And slavery, however gentle and benevolent the master, is barren soil in which the spirit can never properly flourish.¡±


    Ellaenie nodded. ¡°I think I understand.¡±


    ¡°Good. This isn¡¯t what we brought you here for, but I think it was important for you to see it.¡±


    ¡°So¡­what are we here for?¡± Ellaenie asked.


    Rheannach shot her an unreadable glance, her face suddenly and curiously inexpressive. Then she turned, and walked between the carved stones and down into the cleft. ¡°Follow, and find out.¡±


    Ellaenie glanced at Saoirse, who gave her a twinkling but enigmatic smile and followed Rheannach, the shoe of her walking stick tapping on the rocks as she went.


    Well¡­alright, then.


    The cleft swiftly turned into a ravine. As Ellaenie followed her mentors the stone on either side of her grew ever higher and higher, until all the worlds were gone and all she could see was this narrow squeezing gap between two towering mossy walls. Within minutes, even the sky was gone, hidden by the looming overhangs and the tree canopy.


    For minutes, the only sounds were the tapping of Saoirse¡¯s cane, and Ellaenie¡¯s own footsteps as she picked her way down a path of smooth, loose pebbles any one of which would have made for a perfect magestone.


    Then there was a tight spot, a corner¡­


    And open space, so unexpected as to leave Ellaenie blinking in astonishment.


    They were in a glade of sorts, or perhaps the more accurate word was crater. The formation was so perfectly circular, it was almost like a titanic chef had pressed a pastry cutter down into the earthmote¡¯s surface and removed a scone-shaped puck, which was marred only by the crack through which they¡¯d entered, a patch where the crater¡¯s edge was a shallow forested slope, and an immense rocky spike which jut up from the very center.


    ¡°Woah¡­¡±


    ¡°Aye. Ye stand in one o¡¯ the most sacred places in all the worlds now, dear.¡±


    Ellaenie nodded, breathless. She could feel it, the spiritual presence of this location seemed to rush up through her boots to squeeze at her heart.


    As they approached the central spike, she realized it was an altar of sorts. At some point, an alcove had been carved in the front, and within she could see¡­offerings. Thousands of years of offerings, from hundreds of different people, still remarkably well-preserved by the alcove that kept them out of the sun and rain.


    Some, she guessed, had been modest: there was a scattering of beads in glass, wood, bone, clay and metal, though many of them were no longer strung onto anything. There were small piles of coins in dozens of different denominations, an elven vamdraech, an ocarina¡­


    ¡°Who are these for? What are they for? I never heard of the Crowns accepting tribute¡­¡±


    ¡°Of course no¡¯. The Crowns dinnae claim godhood¡­¡± Saoirse unfastened one of the trinkets from her walking stick and laid it down before bowing and taking a step back. ¡°¡¯Tis no¡¯ about them. ¡®Tis an offering tae the sacred itself.¡±


    Rheannach slid a silver ring from the middle finger of her right hand, placed it down gently, bowed, and took a step back in turn, and Ellaenie realized¡­this was expected of her too. And she hadn¡¯t known. She hadn¡¯t had time to prepare, or bring anything special¡­


    She paused. Then, with a touch of sadness and a whispered apology to Adrey Mossjoy, she reached up and untied the ribbon choker that held the wonderful opal magestone to her throat.


    ¡°Are ye sure, lass?¡± Saoirse asked. ¡°¡®Tis a right valuable offering, that.¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t bring anything else. And¡­¡± Ellaenie considered the stone. It really was beautiful but it was also, she¡¯d come to understand, a tool of the Art. The Craft was so different as to make it basically just a shiny bauble a friend had given her. Expensive, to be sure¡­


    But what it represented was leaving behind the study of the Art. And that felt¡­very right, somehow. She took a deep breath, kissed the magestone, and laid it down carefully in the alcove before bowing and taking a step back. She could feel both her mentors¡¯ approval as a kind of warmth in the back of her mind, which only got warmer when Rheannach gave her a little one-armed squeeze and whispered ¡°Well done.¡±


    Ellaenie nodded and exhaled, feeling like she¡¯d let go of something that would have weighed her down.


    ¡°So¡­what comes next?¡±


    ¡°Oh, we wont¡¯ have to wait long¡­¡± Rheannach predicted. She turned to face the edge of the glade where the forest came spilling over the edge and down a bank rather than a cliff. ¡°He¡¯ll be here any minute.¡±


    ¡°He¡ª?¡±


    Ellaenie¡¯s question died in her throat as she turned her attention outwards again and felt it. There was a¡­a presence approaching. She couldn¡¯t hear or see it, but she could feel it as it moved, thrumming the space around them. Both magically¡­


    And physically. There was rhythmic shuddering, a feeling through the ground as if something truly immense was walking about. She expected to see, what? Few creatures were weighty enough to be felt in their steps, and none she¡¯d ever met had such earth-shakingly heavy footfalls! No draft horse, no matter how big. No prize bull, no matter how powerful¡­


    Not even a rampaging elephant could do such a thing!


    No. Instead, into the clearing paraded the most impressive stag she¡¯d ever witnessed or even imagined. It was a giant, primal king of the wild, not overly tall but thickly layered over from neck to rump with healthy, rippling brawn. It was crowned with great towering antlers covered in soft velvet, fur perfect and unscarred, eyes fierce and challenging, with its body taut and ready for anything. It carried its might effortlessly as it pranced about, thumping the earth with its massive hooves, tossing its head proudly and exulting in its being, as if it understood its magnificence. The pale nighttime light reflected from the far earthmotes gleamed on its every deep-carved, perfect line.


    The magnificent buck turned its full attention to them. What she¡¯d seen in profile was so much more seen from head-on¡ªno. It was as if the creature was somehow increasing before her very eyes, yet it wasn¡¯t changing at all! It was an otherworldly sight. No painting or hunter¡¯s tale came close to the vision standing before them.


    Entranced though Ellaenie was, Rheannach snorted as if meeting an old, familiar friend. ¡°Oh, very subtle. I suppose an understated entrance was too much to ask?¡±


    The stag¡­chuckled?


    Then it changed.


    Ellaenie¡¯s mind refused to quite follow the strange shapes it went through as the glossy coat receded, the shape of the shoulders and trunk changed, as it stood up, and up¡­


    And the stag-vision in all its perfection became human, then expanded into something so very, very much more. He was a flawlessly, brutally handsome vision of a man, with long, luxuriant inky-black hair and shining flawless skin, well-tanned and supple like the most beautiful of youths. He had a dusting of black body hair everywhere too, which, strangely to Ellaenie, somehow served to amplify both his youthful beauty and his extreme masculinity.


    For he was a giant hulking brute of a man. He stood naked before them, huge and perfectly sculpted like an ancient warrior-god, his vast granite-like musculature fighting with itself for space on his inhumanly powerful frame.


    If she had to guess, he must have stood something over¡­over eight feet tall, with the beam of his boulder-like shoulders more than half of that across. Every inch of him was packed deep and full to bursting with strength, from his broad, sinewy bullneck above a massive slab of a chest, down through a thick cobbled belly and a giant, rippling pair of legs. Great heavy arms packed with bulging muscle hung from those vast shoulders, each bigger than his head. Veins showed prominently everywhere under his skin, especially on his arms and legs, his enormous blunt-fingered hands, his huge sturdy feet¡­


    There were simply no words.


    Strangely, and just as she¡¯d seen with his stag-form, the more she gawped at his unreal presence, the more of everything he seemed to become, yet¡­he wasn¡¯t actually changing. It was as if¡­as if she could not comprehend what she was seeing, and it was her growing understanding that slowly revealed the fullness of him. The more she studied, the more she saw¡­


    The man before her radiated power, so strongly it was blinding her sense of the magical to all but him. Awesome power in every sense of the word. Powerful feelings she couldn¡¯t identify stirred within her. Awe, certainly. And many others. She couldn¡¯t look away. He was magnificent. Terribly, terribly so.


    But his deep, chest-shaking voice was somehow¡­gentle. Friendly. Playful. And his smile for them was genuine.


    ¡­It was him. She was in the presence of the King. Not some lowly royal in some human province. This was the King of the Crowns. Caernnenas, Strength-Of-Trees, the Stagfather.


    Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    E?rrach.


    ¡°I have rarely been accused of subtlety, my love.¡± He shot his wife a teasing grin and spread his arms wide. ¡°Is this better?¡± His grin grew wicked, then he growled, curled his arms inward and¡­


    Ellaenie felt a flush run through her and she had to avert her eyes. He was showing off for Rheannach and paying no heed to the other two, as if he hadn¡¯t a care in the world. It was just too much on top of everything else!


    ¡°Yes,¡± he proclaimed confidently. ¡°Much better. Why should I be subtle at all?¡±


    Rheannach¡¯s reaction was¡­interesting, to Ellaenie. She folded her arms and tried to radiate cool disapproval, but she was fooling nobody. Under the facade she was amused, glad to see him¡­and powerfully in love.


    And he played right back. He reached out and ran the back of his hand down her cheek, in a gesture of nigh-infinite tenderness and gentleness. ¡°I¡¯ve missed you.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m still mad at you,¡± she chided, even though she leaned her face into his caress slightly. ¡°And spare Ellaenie some blushes, you lout! You could at least pretend to some modesty.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s been eighty years, beloved. Far too long to stay truly mad at me. And why should I?¡± He gave Ellaenie a truly mischievous look. ¡°I think she likes what she sees!¡±


    Ellaenie felt like her face was on fire, but E?rrach acquiesced and a minimal cloth of plain, smooth weave materialized to cover his¡­his very much maleness.


    It didn¡¯t hide anything. Not that anything could hide something that¡­that¡­


    ¡°Better, I suppose. Still an oaf when you want to cause trouble, I see. And Sayf still waxes on about that entire affair!¡±


    E?rrach laughed, deep and friendly and entirely playfully. ¡°Of course he does! Boy needs to be humbled, now and then¡­¡±


    ¡°As do you.¡±


    ¡°And none are so skilled at humbling a man as you! Come, now. I have a warm cabin and a good fire. And for our guest, I have a hot bath with good soap and clean, comfortable clothes. Sometimes, it¡¯s the simple luxuries in life, eh?¡±


    Ellaenie would have never understood that before today. But after days riding and tromping about¡­


    ¡°But first¡­¡± he added, and took Ellaenie¡¯s hand. He was so colossally tall, he had to sink to his knees to properly reach, and his hand was so vast that her fingers could barely reach around one of his own; but he, absurdly, bowed and kissed her hand like the most refined gentleman at court. ¡°There is a necessity we must attend to, if you are to advance in the Craft or long endure in my presence.¡±


    ¡°Wh¡­what necessity, your majesty?¡± Ellaenie asked.


    ¡°An inward preparation. You could spend some hard weeks laboring furiously, meditating, fasting, studying, and making attempt after attempt to attain the inward Eye, or¡­I can save you the trouble.¡±


    ¡°A¡­shortcut?¡± Ellaenie asked, confused.


    ¡°Assistance. Without downside, I assure you. Though it won¡¯t be entirely pleasant¡­¡±


    She looked to Saoirse, who nodded encouragingly.


    ¡°Well¡­I didn¡¯t expect any of this to be easy, so¡­whatever you think is necessary, your majesty.¡±


    He nodded, skewered Ellaenie with his dark gaze, and before she could even brace herself she felt overwhelming power pass through her, around her, into her and out, an ocean of it, so much she felt herself flayed apart and floating away¡ª


    <hr>


    ¡ªand then it was over, as if it hadn¡¯t happened at all. All that remained was the memory of it. She knew, somehow, it had been agony and bliss and terror and intimate and¡­so many things, all at once. But whatever had happened in just that glance, he¡¯d been kind enough to put right. She knew all these things had happened, but she had no recollection of them.


    He¡¯d torn her apart and put her back together, and was nice enough to let her know he¡¯d done it.


    Weirdest of all, was the sense that she¡¯d known what it would entail, somehow.


    Because I did. The thought was like an ice bath.


    ¡°Apologies,¡± he offered. ¡°I have found over the years that the kindest way to help a novice open their inner self involves brute force of mind. I hope it was not too much.¡±


    Ellaenie blinked, a little confused as to his meaning, but¡­ ¡°I¡­no. It¡¯s just¡ªno. I¡¯m fine. I sense you¡¯ve done me a kindness, somehow.¡±


    ¡°And spared you the pain of it,¡± Saoirse added.


    E?rrach nodded, and let go of Ellaenie¡¯s hand. ¡°But not the memory. The memory is important. You will come to understand very soon. But in the meantime, where are our manners?! You have not introduced us, my wife!¡±


    ¡°You were too enraptured by young Ellaenie, the Duchess of Enerlend, my love.¡±


    He gave an acknowledging shrug, and nodded agreement. ¡°You know me too well. It is a pleasure to meet you at last, your grace.¡±


    Unthinkingly, Ellaenie dropped a curtsey in reply though part of her noted the ¡®at last.¡¯ ¡°The pleasure is mine, your majesty.¡±


    He flashed her a smile and a puckish wink, then straightened to look at Saoirse, who was leaning on her walking stick and watching him with quite an amused expression. ¡°Good to see you too, you old hag.¡±


    ¡°Ach, last we met I wasn¡¯t so haggish as this, now was I?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve only grown in the beauty that counts,¡± he offered. Genuinely, too.


    ¡°I could do wi¡¯out the bloody arthritis, though,¡± she countered with a smile.


    ¡°Just say the word. You¡¯ve long ago earned it from me.¡±


    ¡°Ne¡¯er. I¡¯ll take ye up on that warm cabin an¡¯ good fire, though.¡±


    He nodded approvingly. ¡°Good! I¡¯m happy to provide. There¡¯s fresh kill roasting on the fire, too.¡±


    ¡°Never turn down a good meal,¡± Saoirse intoned sagely. ¡°You never know when you¡¯ll get better.¡±


    ¡°I like to think my table is up to standard,¡± King E?rrach grinned. ¡°Rustic though it is. Now come! I would hear your story, young duchess.¡±


    With that, the great hulk of a man turned and walked into the woods, and it was here that any remaining doubts¡ªif one could possibly have them¡ªwere dispelled. The Crowns famously changed the very world with their steps. It was different for each of course, but with E?rrach, the Stagfather, the King of All, the master of life and the wild things of the world¡­


    E?rrach strengthened the world behind him. Trees thickened and sprouted. Grass grew lusher, the air thicker and heavy. Greenery spread in pulsing waves with his every step, the din of animal sounds grew that bit more complex, more fundamental and fierce.


    And the earth moved beneath him. The sensation was hard to describe; it wasn¡¯t the same as if something immensely heavy had fallen nearby. This was so much more. It was as if something mighty enough to contest with the earthmote itself was walking about. She could feel magics far too immense to comprehend radiating away beneath his feet, connecting him to every part of the entire mote they were standing on¡­and of his incomprehensible weight pushing it about.


    As she followed, she began to accept that such a thing was, beyond all belief, exactly the truth. E?rrach was beyond any limits. The power to create worlds, the weight to push them about. The sheer strength, she no longer doubted, to jump from Sayf down to the Unbroken Mote and leap back up again, as the silliest children¡¯s tales of his exploits would have one believe. But now? Seeing him in person and feeling his immense presence as it dominated the world beneath him¡­


    And he left monstrously huge, inhumanly wide footprints of hot, new stone behind him, just as the stories claimed. Air shimmered above them and she could feel the heat radiating off each, as if the very land had been fused together by the might of his passing. On the rare occasions he¡¯d visited palace halls, his always-bare feet famously left impressions in the rich marble floors as if they were wet mud.


    Next to such a being, what could she do but follow along as he bade?


    Of course, there was another, rather uncomfortable matter: he pressed on the senses like no other man she had ever met. His scent, his shape, his voice and his movements. The sheer brutal handsomeness of his face and physique. All of it far, far beyond mortal dreaming. She tried (and failed) not to gawp at him too much, for Rheannach¡¯s sake, but¡­well, it was a small trial in itself. Every hulking part of him was in rolling, hypnotic motion, sinuously predatory yet confident like the most arrogant bull, from the craggy boulders in his calves, through the alternately swelling mountains of his distressingly huge rear, up along the rolling hillocks of his back to the high peaks astride his colossal pillar of a neck.


    It was at once so much it was outright revolting¡­yet it¡¯s perfection meant she couldn¡¯t look away, and she couldn¡¯t deny the tight feeling in her chest.


    Fortunately Rheannach didn¡¯t seem to mind. She seemed quite amused by it, in fact.


    If the forest had seemed to make way for them before, now it was like the land itself conspired to speed their journey. What should have been a long hike through forest and hill and vale took a strange turn down between some rocks, followed a babbling stream downhill between mossy walls of stone, and then out onto the shores of a small lake, where a fishing jetty and a log cabin were waiting for them.


    Strange. To judge from the chimney, the fire was lit inside, but Ellaenie hadn¡¯t smelled any smoke until they got close.


    In any case, the cabin was¡­not what she expected. It was hand-hewn and sturdy. Mighty trees indeed were felled to build it, yet it was still somehow a modest home. Tall and sizable enough to handle its owner of course, but still unassuming. Perhaps it was rather more complete, as log cabins went: there were a few obvious rooms, and a stone chimney sat against the biggest. But compared to a proper countryside chateau? Let alone the Ducal palace?


    ¡°Like it?¡± He turned his great head backward and grinned down at her. ¡°Nice and cozy against the evening drizzle! And I¡¯ve already drawn you a bath. You¡¯re not used to days on end in the same clothes, so I imagine you feel quite ready, hmm?¡±


    ¡°¡­How did you¡ª?¡±


    He chuckled, low and amused. ¡°I am a creature who strides across space and time as you might across a dance floor. How do you think I did such a thing?¡±


    ¡°You knew we¡¯d be coming?¡±


    ¡°I hoped.¡± E?rrach shot his wife a warm look, then opened the door. ¡°Maicoh! Maingan! We have guests!¡±


    There was a crackling fire in the hearth, which was hung with sturdy wrought iron tools. There was also an ocean of fur asleep in front of it. Midnight black and milk white, with no clear boundary between the two¡ª


    Until two great wolves detangled themselves. They were¡­well. Great. What a man like E?rrach would keep as companions. Appropriately powerful canines to put dire wolves to shame.


    And Heralds. Maicoh and Maingan were legends in their own right: the horned god¡¯s hunting hounds, who¡¯d crashed into the ranks of the Ordfey armies in the great battles that ended the elvish empire and wreaked as much carnage as entire cavalry formations. The elves had named them Boweth and Adhf?, Howling Death and Silent Nemesis. The very spirits of revenge.


    Right now, they seemed far more inclined to embody the spirit of puddle.


    Nonetheless, they dutifully pointed their noses at her and gave the air a sniff before Maicoh rose, approached and nuzzled against her hand, demanding scritches which Ellaenie was only too happy to give.


    On the other hand, Maingan the white female yawned, tucked her nose under her tail, and went back to sleep.


    E?rrach¡¯s demeanor changed notably with that.


    ¡°Really, now? It¡¯s been ages since you¡¯ve approved of anyone I invite over.¡±


    Maicoh yawned, and damn near crushed Ellaenie¡¯s legs by laying his chin on her lap.


    ¡°Careful, boy. You forget your strength sometimes.¡±


    A tail as thick and heavy as a fire log thumped the ground twice, making the tools in the hearth rattle on their hooks.


    ¡°Oh yes, he understands perfectly,¡± E?rrach answered before Ellaenie even thought to ask the question. ¡°He is properly a person and not a beast. He can read and think as well as any other. Speak too, if he pleases. Even take human form. Usually he does not. I think the last time he deigned to do either was, what? Eighty years ago?¡±


    He glanced at Rheannach for confirmation. Rheannach, who was standing oddly aloof in the doorway, with her arms folded. Maicoh looked up at her, then sat and whined plaintively.


    Rheannach softened. ¡°Don¡¯t you worry, blackfur. I am glad to see you.¡±


    Another whine, if such a word was entirely right for a rumbling noise that Ellaenie felt more in her belly than heard with her ears.


    Rheannach sighed. ¡°And I¡¯m glad to see him, yes.¡± She shot E?rrach a look that Ellaenie couldn¡¯t interpret at all, then squatted down to rub her fellow Herald under his chin.


    E?rrach for his part seemed¡­resigned. Heavy touch of melancholy. Not that he was difficult to read, his feelings radiated out of him like the weight of an imminent storm.


    ¡°Rhee¡­if you¡¯d rather not be here¡­¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m here. Our maiden needs this.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not what I asked, my love.¡±


    There was no rebuke in his voice, no anger. Only that feeling of an old, old argument playing itself out again, its every movement predictable and known in advance.


    She gave Maicoh another scratch, then stood up. ¡°Then¡­give me a little more time.¡±


    ¡°Of course, Rheannach. It is not mine to give.¡±


    ¡°You, who created us all?¡±


    ¡°Not even I am the master of all things. You have always been free to do as you will.¡±


    ¡°Have I?¡±


    Ellaenie blinked at the wave of terrible sadness that rolled off him. Rheannach had wounded him, in a way Ellaenie wouldn¡¯t have guessed anyone could. ¡°Yes. From the moment I made you. I mean it with all my heart.¡±


    Ellaenie couldn¡¯t imagine how those words and the sincerity that went along with them didn¡¯t thaw Rheannach instantly and completely. And they did have some effect, in that she paused, then turned away from the door long enough to kiss him lightly on the lips, touch her forehead to his¡­


    And then she was gone. The storm of muddled passions that had entirely filled the cabin went with her.


    A pause could hardly be more awkward.


    E?rrach sighed, looking at the door, then gave Ellaenie a wan look. ¡°From this you should learn that no man, no matter how mighty, is immune from the power of an unhappy love.¡±


    Ellaenie felt a small nudge in the small of her back from Saoirse. Of course, this was¡­some kind of a test, or a moment of learning. She should say¡­something. Prove something about herself.


    Well¡­


    ¡°I note you didn¡¯t actually apologize to her for anything¡­¡± she ventured.


    ¡°Or she to me. Our quarrel isn¡¯t so easy as that. Besides¡­that would require I apologize for creating her in the first place. You can see how that might be a bit awkward.¡±


    ¡°¡­Admittedly, not a species of problem I¡¯m experienced with¡­¡±


    ¡°Heh!¡± His laugh was deep and explosive. ¡°I can see why my heralds like you.¡±


    Another touch in the arm from Saoirse: well done, lass.


    Ellaenie nodded her understanding, and looked around the room a little more closely.


    She¡¯d heard stories of the Oasis where Prince Sayf reclined on silken cushions by glittering fountains among the finest marble and tilework, sipping wine while petitioners across the world came to him with performance and poetry and music to delight. She¡¯d seen artists¡¯ likenesses of Queen Talvi¡¯s Glacier Keep, whose towering blue walls were the most colorful, glittering feature in an endless field of snow and black rocks, and the pure ice refracted the light so that the interior was lit with rainbows.


    Lady Haust, of course, kept no home that anyone knew of. And it had always been known that King E?rrach lived in the woods with his lady wife and his hunting hounds¡­but if she¡¯d ever thought to try and imagine it, she would have pictured something a little more¡­


    Well¡­something a little more. A grand house in the midst of the most awe-inspiring scenery, built across gorges and watered by falls, maybe. Something equal in stature to the First of Four.


    This was just a hunting lodge. There were herbs tied to the rafters, a boar spear over the door, and the rug had once been a brown bear large enough to be the king of all bears. The walls were decorated mostly with simple tools and handiwork, but here and there was a trophy fish fit to make a champion angler bite his rod in half, or the antlers of a beast that could have battered down a castle¡¯s gates. A couple of exquisite paintings had pride of place, both depicting things she didn¡¯t understand: one showed some kind of mythical warriors of a stature worthy of E?rrach himself, the other¡­was mostly black, and depicted a swirling mass of colored, point-like lights¡­


    Both were masterworks worthy of the King, but they stood out precisely because of that. The rest? Elevated, perhaps. But ordinary. The air smelled of hearthfire, dry herbs, wood oil, beeswax, fur, leather, firewood and salted meat, and the furniture was¡­


    Well, actually. The furniture was hand-made by one who¡¯d mastered woodworking over time immemorial, and who favored simplicity. The table had once been the knotted and knurled roots of a tree, painstakingly polished and sanded smooth to create something that was both a sturdy eating surface, and an elegant sweeping work of natural art.


    It was, above all else, cozy. Ellaenie had often had to wrap up warm in the Ducal palace¡¯s studies and chambers, even with the fires roaring. This cabin, though, felt like the worst blizzard in the worlds might break against it, and the occupants would scarcely notice. In fact, she was already starting to feel quite warm.


    ¡°May I take your coats?¡± E?rrach offered.


    ¡°Uh¡­thank you!¡±


    He gathered her riding coat and Saoirse¡¯s shawl, and hung them on a pair of wrought iron hooks by the door, alongside a vast leather cape. Helpful, considerate, polite¡­while he himself remained bare of anything at all save the smooth bit of cloth barely containing his loins.


    The primal heart of man, right there: infinite capacity to be both civilized and savage. And that was the true difference. The being before her was achingly perfect to behold, outsized and heroic beyond words. He couldn¡¯t properly claim modesty, as shamelessly unclothed as he was¡­


    But the life he chose to live said more about who and what he valued more than anything else.


    ¡°We will talk of many things,¡± he said as he did so. ¡°Of happy and sad memory, of my love¡¯s quarrel with me¡­But first! That bath awaits you. I would tend to my roast and to Saoirse¡¯s fresh haul of news while you indulge.¡±


    With that, she was shooed into the adjacent room by his great chest-sized mitt patting her gently on her back, the door closed tight behind her¡­


    He¡¯d been right. It was the small luxuries that truly mattered. The bath was simple, but built for E?rrach¡¯s immense frame: Ellaenie found herself almost swimming in water that was right on the edge of being too hot.


    She took her time to wash properly, to gently oil her hair and comb it out properly. Her curls would be a mess of course, but there was no helping that anyway without her ladies-in-waiting. She toweled off¡ªand honestly, she¡¯d never experienced a towel so wonderful. Nor the soap, nor the clothing laid out before her. Those were¡­strange. Unlike any she¡¯d ever seen. But it was, more importantly, clean and didn¡¯t have two days of riding and being worn lingering about it.


    Sinfully comfortable, too.


    There was a mirror. One of the expensive ones made of silvered glass, which made it one of the only expensive things she¡¯d seen in this cabin. When she examined herself in it, she had to blink at the strangeness of her own reflection. The clothes were cut so oddly, so¡­simply. They weren¡¯t unflattering, but nor were they flattering. They were just¡­bits of fabric to cover her body. There was no discernible fashion to them, that she was familiar with.


    Still. They seemed serviceable, and far better than the unwashed blouse and petticoats she¡¯d been wearing for more than a day. And who was she to refuse a Crown¡¯s gift?


    She came out of the bathroom, still toweling her hair, and simply had to ask.


    ¡°They are things from a world long, long gone. Things the people of this new world have not yet learned to make. In time, I suspect. But not now. The soap, though, that is a secret of Sayf¡¯s. I am not so crafty with perfumes and¡­well, alchemy I suppose.¡±


    ¡°Oh!¡± Saoirse nodded knowingly. ¡°That towel.¡±


    ¡°A different one! You never did take your own home with you¡­¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re not here for gifts, your majesty,¡± Saoirse pointed out.


    ¡°No, but a little is not so much to ask, yes?¡± With that, he presented Saoirse with her own. ¡°I did wash it since then.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s been forty-some years, I would bloody hope ye did!¡±


    He shrugged. ¡°I am not known for my civilized ways. In any case¡­please. Sit.¡± He gestured to his table, and when they¡¯d taken their places he began to carve the deer. A platter of rustic roasted vegetables sat in the middle, fragrant and glistening with butter. ¡°But, before we eat¡­¡±


    He did something then that shocked Ellaenie entirely, something she would have never imagined he¡¯d do.


    He offered a prayer. Not in a language she understood. Nor that anyone understood, if she missed her guess. But the subject could not be more obvious.


    It was a prayer of thanksgiving.


    ¡°¡­Amen.¡±


    The meaning of that last bit was impossible to miss.


    ¡°Well? Tuck in!¡±


    Questions burned in her head, but it was her stomach that got the best of her. She carved a piece¡ªquite rare, not her preference¡ªbut she ate anyway.


    It was impossibly delicious.


    For some time they ate in silence, too hungry for proper conversation, until at least he punctured the quiet. ¡°I can feel the question about to incinerate you from the inside out, duchess. Please, ask. You need fear nothing at my table.¡±


    He scooped another massive helping of roast venison into his mouth while she composed herself.


    ¡°You pray?¡±


    ¡°Of course. As I¡¯ve always told the worlds, young duchess: I am not god.¡±


    She noticed his specific phrasing. ¡°God. Singular.¡±


    ¡°Correct. I realize I can¡¯t truly argue against lesser accusations of godhood¡­we never wanted worship, you must understand. As strange as it must be to imagine, I was once just as plainly human as you, or any other in this world. What I am now does not change that reality.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps not, but forgive me, you are still godlike. Next to you now, we are all¡­¡±


    ¡°Points of being so feeble and small,¡± Saoirse added, ¡°it is only by his great care we exist at all.¡±


    The thought clearly made him uncomfortable. ¡°Reluctantly¡­yes. But there are limits.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t claim supreme power.¡±


    ¡°No. As I said, I am not god.¡±


    She realized. ¡°So you believe in the singular god, as the Oneists proclaim.¡±


    His mood soured so dramatically, it practically made the walls creak. ¡°They,¡± he said, darkly, ¡°are victims of the worst crime ever to touch these Worlds. It is only the careful, difficult work of undoing such an evil that stays my hand, even now.¡±


    ¡°¡­Forgive me, your majesty.¡±


    There was a strange effect his stupendous size had on any space he occupied: his moods were magnified by it. When he was happy and jolly, his presence was warm, comforting. Protective. Angered? It was raw threat, radiant of menace and power. But terrible moods did not suit him well. He brightened immediately.


    ¡°No, no. Nothing to forgive. A young witch needs a sharp mind!¡± He turned to Saoirse, ¡°and often a sharp tongue¡­¡±


    ¡°Aye, though hers is still a wee touch too soft,¡± Saoirse grinned at Ellaenie.


    ¡°The worst crime?¡± Ellaenie said, carefully ignoring the dig.


    ¡°A perversion. The most dangerous lies grow in the soil of truth, and what Nils Civorage uses to shackle and enslave is the twisted echo of a truth that should set the soul free. It¡­his actions are going to set us back centuries, I fear. In some ways, the peoples of my worlds are woefully behind the curve.¡±


    ¡°The¡­curve.¡± Ellaenie frowned, not following the strange turn of phrase at all.


    ¡°Ah. Sorry. So, the first important truth you will learn about me and the rest of the Crowns: I am old. If you wish, I can help you understand how old. But it will be a bit of a shock¡­¡±


    ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°Because along with it, you will learn a great many other things to frame the scope of it.¡±


    ¡°I¡­.maybe someday? I¡¯m already feeling a little overwhelmed as it is.¡±


    He nodded graciously. ¡°Entirely reasonable. So the short version: it is a turn of phrase from an advanced form of mathematics very few here understand. In fact right now it would be only the Navigators, and the Heralds and Crowns, and¡­well. That¡¯s for another day. In any case,¡± and here he took a big bite out of a whole roasted potato, ¡°for you it means there are things the Garanese would have discovered by now, if the worlds were constructed differently. Things which you perhaps cannot reasonably be expected to discover because, firstly: we constructed them this way, and secondly because we are here.¡±


    ¡°Such as?¡±


    ¡°Well¡­why do your feet stick so firmly to the inward-facing surface of an earthmote? Why don¡¯t humans drift just as the motes themselves do?¡±


    ¡°Well, the navigators suggest it¡¯s because the sun pushes us away. But it doesn¡¯t push the earthmotes away because you fixed them in place with a standing magical field powered by the sun itself.¡±


    ¡°And they¡¯re exactly correct. The problem is, that force would normally work in the opposite direction. The sun is¡­something special, you see. It exists to serve as a fountain from which light and matter pours forth, back into a dark and empty universe. It is the very beginning of a work that will last¡­well, from your perspective, effectively forever. These eleven thousand seven hundred and fifteen years since the First Day are nothing, hardly anything at all, next to the scale of the grand work.¡±


    He smiled when Ellaenie frowned, trying to picture that. ¡°Imagine stretching out your arms to either side of you. Imagine that all the distance between one fingertip and the opposite is the length of time that must pass in order for our project here to fairly be said to have completed its infancy. Now imagine that your lady-in-waiting made one stroke of a fine-grained file against your fingernail. In that single stroke, she would file away everything that has elapsed since the First Day.¡±


    Ellaenie tried. It was impossible to hold in her head, but she tried. E?rrach nodded grimly and sat back to swirl a tankard of mead larger than Ellaenie¡¯s head.


    ¡°You chose wisely when you declined my offer,¡± he said. ¡°A proper grasp of the scale involved is, I¡¯m sorry to say, physically impossible for you.¡±


    ¡°But you said¡­there are things we don¡¯t know that we should?¡± Ellaenie asked, shaking off the impression.


    He nodded, and indicated the strange painting on the wall, the colorful swirl. ¡°You see that?¡±


    ¡°Yes¡­what is it?¡±


    ¡°It is a galacksee. A thing that does not exist, has not existed, for a stretch of time that would destroy you if you could properly glimpse it. But it was, once, my home. Our home. Where our people came to be, so very long ago.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t even know what I¡¯m looking at¡­¡± Ellaenie said, shaking her head.


    ¡°No. And therein is the problem. This world is not the right shape. It is warped by our wills, by our very existence. It does not rigidly obey its own rules, but our rules. This is necessary, you see, for there to be any intelligent life at all right now, besides we Crowns¡­and I think we might have filled with despair if we did not have a world to share with someone. You and everything here were created as an act of love. For ourselves, and for you. So, lacking enough mas-ennergie to rebuild the universe proper¡­We started small. And that has consequence.¡±


    ¡°One o¡¯ which bein¡¯, because it¡¯s no¡¯ consistent tae itself, but is a product o¡¯ their will,¡± Saoirse interjected, ¡°there are things we cannae know. Truths that are closed tae us that the great minds shouldae found by now. The very thing that lets us live is also a prison.¡±


    ¡°Yes. Please¡­indulge me one more swipe at the scale, because it is important you have some understanding. Imagine that galacksee there: it was not one object, but rather a cloud of many hundreds of billions of stahs. You do not know what a stah is, of course. They looked much like the sun does here¡ªbrilliant points of light overhead. But all the Nested Worlds would fit inside even the very smallest of them a thousand times over. Our own stah? It was vastly bigger¡­and very much in the average. That painting represents a thing so incredibly vast, light itself would take nearly a hundred thousand years to cross it.¡±


    Saoirse sighed as though she was nostalgic for something she could never have seen. ¡°And there were more galacksees in the sky then stahs in each one.¡±


    In the midst of all that, Ellaenie caught on to a question she could ask. ¡°¡­Light has speed?¡±


    ¡°Yes!¡± E?rrach clapped his hands together so excitedly that it was like a small thunderclap. ¡°Exactly! You see the problem! the Worlds are too small for humanity to ever notice this! But it¡¯s one of the most foundational things one must understand if one is to begin to access the deep knowledge. Because the why of the speed of light is tied to time, to the shape of space, to the reason behind aging and decay, to why anything at all has form or color or texture¡­to everything!¡±


    All of this was, honestly, too much. But she understood the intent. He was coloring something in, with big, broad strokes for her later benefit. First, though¡­


    ¡°I feel compelled to ask: how fast, exactly?¡±


    ¡°One hundred eighty thousand Garanese miles per second, or thereabouts. Nothing moves faster, for most reasonable definitions of ¡®move¡¯ or ¡®fast¡­¡¯¡±


    Ellaenie blinked, and tried to chew on that. That was¡­fast enough to rattle back and forth from one side of the Unbroken Earthmote to the other dozens of times in one second.


    And she had no idea what further wonders he was hinting at. He continued anyway, obviously eager to share.


    ¡°¡ªAnd even weirder? It¡¯s also a speed limit! That speed is always true for everyone, no matter how they¡¯re moving! And it¡¯s not just the speed of light, it¡¯s the speed at which causality itself propagates across the¡ª¡±


    Saoirse leaned forward and playfully whapped him on the knuckles with a spoon. ¡°Too much, yer majesty. Dinnae drop th¡¯ whole deep lore on the poor girl all in one go.¡±


    ¡°Ow!¡± He withdrew his hands and chuckled, playing at some grievous injury. ¡°You¡¯re right, of course¡­but to be fair, I do not expect this to stick. It is simply important to convey the depth of the problem. It is¡­you cannot help but have a deep love of study, to be what we are. Even I!¡± He grinned, ¡°I know I do not look much like a studious acolyte¡­¡°


    He was teasing her. Well, why not? ¡°No, your majesty. You look as if you have studied boulders and boxing far more than books.¡±


    ¡°Ha!¡± His booming mirth shook the cabin. ¡°It¡¯s true, I have an entire earthmote hidden away just for exercise and play. Perhaps one day I¡¯ll show you¡­¡± That telling grin of his, and Ellaenie again felt flustered as he lifted an arm and tensed it in a show of his godly brawn, admiring himself for a bit. He then extended one of his hulking legs from his seated position and flexed it every which way he could, admiring it as well. With a skewering, smug expression: ¡°I¡¯d say it¡¯s paid off, yeah?¡±


    ¡­Well, no point in evasion, and there no hiding how it made her feel. ¡°Y¡ªyes, your majesty.¡±


    He got the message and somehow folded himself back onto his little stool, which creaked heavily under his weight.


    ¡°Please, forgive me my fun. It is not often I can indulge with one so enjoyably receptive. Anyway. Let¡¯s pause. Why, my young duchess, do you think I would share all this tonight?¡±


    ¡°I¡­¡± Ellaenie shook her head slightly, more to try and rattle loose the slightly dazed feeling than to convey not knowing. ¡°It¡¯s¡­it¡¯s important to you that somebody knows this. It¡¯s important to you that at least some humans understand as well¡­.¡± she paused as she realized the full significance of Saoirse¡¯s playful smack on his hand.


    ¡°You¡¯re as human as the rest of us, and you want somebody to understand that,¡± she ventured.


    ¡°A good answer! Though I am of course rather more than human, and have been for a long time¡­but human I was born, from the union of man and woman just as you were. And human I remained even as the whole universe faded and died around me. And human I still wish to be, as much as I can. Not quite the right answer, alas, but a good one, and entirely true. Try again?¡±


    Ellaenie thought some more. To buy time, she sipped some of his mead, and found it incredible. She wasn¡¯t usually one for mead¡ªtoo sweet¡ªbut this was more like a rich, mellow wine.


    The thoughts simmering in her brain finally rolled up another idea.


    ¡°¡­You¡¯re saying our world is unintelligible because of you. But you didn¡¯t really have the¡­resources?¡±


    He nodded encouragingly.


    ¡°¡ªTo make it intelligible. So you need somebody to¡­to pierce the veil, so to speak?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re getting close. Pierce the veil how, would you guess?¡±


    Ellaenie didn¡¯t feel ready for this at all. Her head was starting to feel fuzzy and pressured, and she was still reeling from the bit about the nail file and how long it would be before the Nested Worlds could fairly be said to have begun their true purpose¡­


    Oh.


    ¡°I suppose¡­we¡¯re not ready for it yet, are we? I know I¡¯m not.¡±


    King E?rrach sat back, crossed his huge arms across his vast, thick chest, and smiled. ¡°You picked a good¡¯un,¡± he commented to Saoirse.


    ¡°Knew it frae the moment I clapped eyes on her.¡±


    Ellaenie blushed, and drank more mead to cover it.


    ¡°That, my lovely young duchess, is the beginning of it. We need to guide the people toward readiness. The end of that road is the Words themselves, and perhaps a few might become like us Crowns. The beginning is simple logic and math, community and belief. And the bumps along the way?¡±


    ¡°But it must be us who guide ourselves, by choice. We¡¯re no¡¯ slaves to the Crowns¡¯ will, and shall¡¯nae be,¡± Saoirse declared. ¡°We cannae be, no'' if what they truly wish for is tae be realized. So, their role is tae lurk in the woods an¡¯ the palaces an¡¯ in people¡¯s imaginations¡ª¡±


    ¡°Maybe sire a big strapping boy or girl now and then, here and there¡­¡± E?rrach waggled his eyebrows at Ellaenie, and she felt her face flush even redder.


    Saoirse ignored him. ¡°¡ªan¡¯ pick frae among the peoples o¡¯ these worlds, those who can handle the delicate craft o¡¯ guidance.¡±


    ¡°Witches,¡± Ellaenie seized on that, grateful for the escape from his teasing.


    ¡°And the occasional mage,¡± E?rrach conceded, ¡°If they can pull their head out of their ass. And sometimes one who has no talent for either Art or Craft, but has other useful skills and the right kind of mind.¡±


    ¡°But mostly witches.¡±


    ¡°Indeed. And I think you¡¯ll understand why in the fullness of time. But Saoirse¡¯s right, I¡¯ve dumped a lot on you, and right after a full dinner. I do have a small little after-dinner treat¡­¡±


    He rose and vanished into his pantry, returning with a cloth-wrapped bundle which turned out to be fruit cake.


    ¡°Here. A gift from Lady Haust.¡±


    ¡°How is she doin¡¯ anyway?¡± Saoirse asked, while Ellaenie reeled from the idea of the most secretive of the Crowns not only baking a gift, but baking her a gift.


    ¡°Oh, she¡¯s always well. Right now she looks about as old as you do. She was quite pleased when she heard you and Rheannach had chosen a new maiden...¡± he flashed a grin at Ellaenie. ¡°No doubt you¡¯ll be visited by her fairly soon. Not that you¡¯ll know it¡¯s her.¡±


    The cake turned out to be simple but expertly made, and with the addition of a little butter it was the perfect thing to chase down an already filling meal and pack out those last few corners.


    After it was reduced to crumbs (and a slice set aside for Rheannach) King E?rrach stood, sighed, stretched, and relaxed in a way that reminded Ellaenie she was supping with a god; some immense power he¡¯d been restraining returned to him, flowing through his feet and into the cabin¡¯s floor, pressing in on her senses like he¡¯d done outside.


    ¡°Forgive me, my little tableside stool isn¡¯t quite up to the task anymore. Please, make yourself comfortable, I¡¯ll just sit down here.¡±


    He picked a spot on the floor, and somehow folded his tremendous legs into a cross-legged position before the fire, comfortably next to his hounds. Maingan made a grumbling you-dare-disturb-my-slumber noise, and transferred her chin onto his knee, where she demanded ear-scritches with a lick from a tongue as large as a saddle flap.


    E?rrach was only too happy to provide.


    ¡°Right. So! We¡¯ve spoken long about Crowns and plots and such. What about you? How does a duchess come to an interest in the real?¡±


    Ellaenie blinked, then sat in the easy chair alongside him.


    ¡°Well¡­magic always fascinated me, since I was a girl. And I started studying it as soon as I could. And I think I¡¯d have been quite happy to learn the Art and be a mage, but¡­¡±


    ¡°You would have been a good mage,¡± he offered, then grinned, ¡°but that wouldn¡¯t be nearly so fun as all this, eh?¡±


    ¡°Uh¡­no. No, definitely not!¡± She had to allow a nervous laugh. ¡°Thank you. But¡­my parents¡¯ murder changed things.¡±


    He sobered immediately. ¡°They were Taken, weren¡¯t they?¡±


    Maingan opened one eye and flicked a listening ear as Ellaenie sighed. ¡°Yes. My father¡­when he was about my age, he put down the so-called Oderan King. I¡¯m sure you heard about that.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d like to hear it in your words.¡±


    Ellaenie sighed again. ¡°Comte Gavier Navarro de los Oderos emerged as the first claimant to the Garanese throne in two hundred years, and claimed he had the family records to prove it. He managed to get a small army on his side, until my grandfather convinced the other dukes to let him put down the so-called king, and my father commanded the Ducal armies. He outmaneuvered Comte Gavier at the battle of Rio Serpiente and, well, that was the end of the Oderan King. The Navarro family¡¯s titles were struck, and Father never thought a bit about it for the rest of his life¡­until a servant sabotaged the light stones in the ducal bedchambers, and my parents were Taken as they slept.¡±


    A pulse of sorrow and anger rolled off E?rrach that no doubt presaged some words of sympathy, but astonishingly, Maingan levered herself to her feet, padded across and rested her massive chin between Ellaenie¡¯s knees.


    Ellaenie had thought she¡¯d shed every tear she was ever going to about that night. But that gesture was enough to bring them prickling back up. She scratched the wolfen herald¡¯s ears gratefully as she continued with the story. ¡°She was just one of several conspirators, but she was one of the Navarro family. Born in poverty, and she blamed my family for her situation. I was supposed to die as well, but I¡¯d decided to stay a week longer with my aunt and uncle in Lendwick. After I returned to the city and took up the duchy¡­my first business was tracking down the conspirators and seeing justice done.¡±


    ¡°And you did.¡±


    ¡°No. I saw them dead. What they deserved was a justice I couldn¡¯t stomach handing out. It wasn¡¯t only my parents who were taken that night. Some crimes¡­I don¡¯t know. I had the moment of deciding their fate, and I realized that if the punishment fit the crime, I¡¯d just dirty myself. So instead they got the guillotine, and I washed my hands of them.¡±


    There was silence, except for the rustle of her fingers through wolf fur, and the crackle of logs in the hearth. it lasted until Ellaenie shook aside the moment of melancholy and carried on.


    ¡°Since then, I¡¯ve been trying to do right by my people. But most of the time, that means listening to the advice I receive. And some of my advisors are doing¡­well, they¡¯re doing the smart thing and improving their own position while they have an impressionable and inexperienced young duchess to pressure. Because they¡¯re right, I am inexperienced. And if I wasn¡¯t impressionable I don¡¯t think I¡¯d be here at all, would I?¡±


    E?rrach chuckled at that, as did Saoirse. ¡°True. But being young and impressionable is no fault, you know.¡±


    ¡°Maybe not. But I want to receive the right impressions. I want to be a good duchess. I want to understand the world, so I can serve properly. And that means I need to learn fast. I sense¡­I can trust Saoirse, and Rheannach. And you. And Lord Gilber. But there are others I¡¯m less sure of.¡±


    ¡°Ah.¡± King E?rrach shifted, and another wave of power pulsed off him and through the room. ¡°Are you sure you should trust me, though? As you say, you are young and impressionable. And beautiful, in so many ways. I do have a reputation¡­¡±


    ¡°An¡¯ powerful men can be predatory,¡± Saoirse added. She¡¯d sat back and lit her pipe, and now her eyes glinted coldly through the smoke.


    ¡°I get what I want,¡± E?rrach added, simply. He crossed his godly arms, tilted his head confidently¡­


    Despite knowing perfectly well that he was trying to fluster her, Ellaenie couldn¡¯t quite resist being flustered. She cleared her throat and ventured, through a blush that was about to set her ears on fire, ¡°Maybe you do. But I don¡¯t think you want to betray trust¡­¡±


    ¡°You should be careful just who you confide in, young duchess. The powerful and the predatory are drawn to such things. None more than I.¡±


    ¡°You have nothing to gain from me, your majesty. Only a fleeting pleasure.¡±


    ¡°Fleeting pleasure is incentive enough, you know. Men are motivated differently.¡±


    ¡°Often, maybe. Are you telling me all men would take a fleeting pleasure and damn the consequences?¡±


    ¡°Do not forget the men who think, all-too-often rightly, that they can take their fleeting pleasure and suffer no consequences at all. Can you tell which is which?¡± he countered. ¡°Feel me out. I will not hinder you. What do I feel right now?¡±


    Ellaenie frowned, then exercised the witch-sight. She¡¯d found it was better for her to visualize the held magic as a violin string that resonated to somebody¡¯s voice, rather than a mirror or still pool, and listen to the notes it played when she considered¡­


    Um¡­


    It was overpowering. King E?rrach had not been teasing her, he really did desire her, truly and without any pretense. With the force of his godlike being behind it. Worse, he knew exactly the effect he was having on her, too. Better than she knew herself, probably.


    It was absurd. He wasn¡¯t even really the sort of man she normally found attractive, he was much too large and rough! And yet¡­the mental image the Sight took from him was of one of those crushingly powerful hands around her head and throat, and her own face utterly lost in sensation under his rhythmic, impossibly powerful attentions. It was equal parts shocking, terrifying¡­and secretly, scarily enticing. She was, she realized, being tempted. She was tempted! Even as her lips and mouth went dry, some deep part of her was whimpering at the impressed fantasy he was giving her of how it would feel to submit and let him have her, for hours, days, weeks on end¡­and the implication it would all be more, far more than any mortal could possibly bear on their own.


    But it was only a thought, and the moment passed.


    E?rrach chuckled darkly and sat back as the impression faded. ¡°I am held as a god of fertility and virility, and it is not an unfair accusation,¡± he said. ¡°If you let me, I would be very glad to do a great many terrible and wonderful things to you, my beautiful young duchess. I would change you into something fearsome and new, so that you might survive to savor the smallest taste of my power. You certainly wouldn¡¯t be the first, but with you I would be artful. And, so: do you still trust me?¡±


    Ellaenie shook the mental image out of her head and refocused. Assessed him, and what he was trying to tell her.


    ¡°¡­Yes. I still trust you.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°You asked permission. You¡¯re saying all these things and shared that¡­vision with me to prove a point. And¡­and you let Rheannach walk out of here without argument, even though you plainly want her far more than this¡­passing fancy you have for me.¡±


    He smiled, and the powerful tension between them drained away entirely.


    ¡°Very good. And you are correct, you need fear nothing from me,¡± he re-assured. ¡°But how would you know that of a man by the Sight alone?¡±


    ¡°I¡­suppose the Sight is just one way of looking at things.¡±


    ¡°Exactly. Men often do not read like women, and vice versa. You saw what was lurking in my mind, and I assure you that was only the mildest passing part of my fantasy. Men are often savage animals in our own heads; It is our discipline and self-control that matters. So¡­how then, should you judge a man? His feelings might be helpful¡­¡±


    ¡°Character. I need evidence of their character.¡±


    ¡°Yes¡­but let me suggest something, being what I am. What drives a man is often primal and savage. I sit before you as the avatar of a man¡¯s innermost nature, and I have been polite and restrained about what thoughts have passed through my mind. But I do not simply take like an animal, because what disciplines a man is what he cares about. For an undisciplined man cannot achieve anything worthwhile. So for a woman in your position, you absolutely must know what concerns the men in your orbit. What is it they have disciplined themselves against? What do they wish to attain?¡±


    He smiled, and rested his hands on his great legs. ¡°You¡¯ve learned the witch-sight well. And now, I think, you understand its flaw and limitation. Knowing a man¡¯s feelings can be misleading, because they are often raging and snarling against the bars of his self-control. Therefore: know how and why a man governs himself, and you will know the most important thing about him.¡±


    Ellaenie exhaled, feeling like he¡¯d just stuffed another lesson inside her mind alongside the one about the World Before, and that any more might just make her burst. But she remembered her manners, and bowed her head gratefully. ¡°Thank you for your lessons, your majesty,¡± she said. It was equal parts formality and a request: please, enough.


    ¡°You¡¯re very welcome.¡± He smiled and rose to his feet. ¡°In any case, I¡¯ve been restraining myself for your benefit so long it¡¯s starting to get quite uncomfortable, and my larder needs restocking. So, I hope you don¡¯t think me rude, but¡­¡±


    Maicoh and Maingan both immediately perked up at his words: Maingan turned her head away from Ellaenie¡¯s lap and whined plaintively, her tail thumping the floor.


    ¡°Yes, girl. I am feeling a need to run tonight¡­¡±


    The two wolf heralds were both immediately at the door, behaving so exactly like the animals they pretended to be it was hard for Ellaenie not to giggle at them, and giggle even harder when Maingan flicked a slightly offended ear and Maicoh panted at her in a way which looked exactly like a conspiratorial grin.


    E?rrach laughed, and paused to take Ellaenie¡¯s hand and kiss it again. ¡°You¡¯re welcome to entertain yourselves as you please, and retire when you wish.¡± he said. ¡°Please, enjoy your evening.¡±


    He turned his back toward her just as the fabric around his loins shimmered away. He turned at the waist, grinned¡­


    One last brief godly show of the King¡¯s inhuman physique. One last tease. And a promise. One day, when you¡¯re ready and willing¡­Another vision, this one as tender as the other was primal¡­


    And then he was gone in a rattle of door, a thump of bare feet on floorboards, and a scrabble of eager paws. Ellaenie took a deep breath to shake off the weight of his presence as the latch rattled still, then turned to Saoirse.


    ¡°¡­Is he always like that?¡±


    ¡°Nae, usually he¡¯s far more intense. The true weight o¡¯ him is enough tae push motes of almost any size onto new courses, and his true power is enough tae remake all o¡¯ creation. ¡®Tis part o¡¯ why he avoids civilization: he does¡¯nae want to accidentally flatten every little hut he walks past, ye know.¡±


    What an incredible thought that was! It prompted an immediate question.


    ¡°Why build a cabin, then? If it can¡¯t withstand him?¡±


    ¡°Oh, it can. Just no¡¯ with everyday mortals about. We would be crushed into a thin smear against the floor by the press o¡¯ his presence if we¡¯d not been prepared, and he let himself fully relax. ¡®Tis why he prefers the outdoors or very large spaces¡ªhe can root it all in the ground easier, and be safe around regular folk without havin¡¯ tae concentrate. But do not forget his power! I¡¯ve seen him reduce a small castle to liquid-hot rock beneath his feet, because its owner had done true evil and attracted his ire.¡±


    ¡°I¡­I thought that was just a legend¡­¡±


    ¡°Take heed, then: he can do more than simply destroy. He can un-make if he feels the need. nobody remembers it as but a legend, because that is how he wills it to be.¡±


    ¡°Are the Crowns all like that?¡±


    ¡°Mm¡­.the same but different. Ye¡¯ll meet them all, in time. The other three are gentler tae be around, sure enough. But no less impressive, each in their unique way.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll meet them all?¡±


    ¡°That I promise ye.¡± Saoirse offered a small smile, then gestured to the cozy chair by the fire. ¡°Now. If ye don¡¯t mind, I fear age brings wi¡¯ it the need tae sleep off such a healthy meal. An¡¯ I¡¯m sure ye¡¯ve much tae think on wi¡¯out an old beldame natterin¡¯ at ye.¡±


    Ellaenie nodded gratefully, and sat back down at the table. The plates and cutlery were gone, she realized. She hadn¡¯t even noticed it happen.


    Convenient, though. She rested her elbows on the tabletop, stared into the fire as Saoirse settled herself in the easy chair, and let her thoughts wander wherever seemed best.


    They wandered for a long while.


    <hr>


    Time passed. Saoirse, after adding a few more logs to the fire, settled in the easy chair and promptly fell into the sleep of an old woman who¡¯d had a long and quietly exhausting day. Without her tending it, the logs burned down, and down, until there was little left but glowing coals while outside the moment of nightfall arrived and the world became dark in an instant.


    Ellaenie¡¯s thought just couldn¡¯t seem to settle on any one thing. They flitted from fact to revelation to feeling like an insect gathering nectar, and left her feeling¡­overfull. Stuffed. Not on food (though definitely quite a bit of that) but gorged on knowledge and experience with no idea what to do about it.


    Absent a better way of handling it, she decided to follow E?rrach¡¯s example and go for a walk. Somehow, she knew she was perfectly safe to wander, here in his domain.


    She rose, added some new logs to the fire for Saoirse¡¯s benefit, stifled a giggle as her elderly mentor emitted a snore like a farrier¡¯s file scraping the shoe, and slipped out into the dark.


    The worlds-light reflected from distant, daylit earthmotes danced on the lake¡¯s still surface, along with the thin but unmistakable orange light of a campfire under a large tree, some distance away around the shore.


    She followed it, feeling quite certain she knew to whom it belonged.


    Sure enough, she found Rheannach sitting and brewing something in a stone cup as she sang softly to herself under the wide branches.


    ?¡°My heart keeps going missing in the night, in the night And I can¡¯t find her, however hard I seek¡­ She sings to me, and listen though I might, though I might, Her words are in a tongue I cannot speak¡­¡±?


    It was an unguarded moment. Up until now, Ellaenie guessed her Herald mentor had been restraining herself much like E?rrach did. She¡¯d been impressive, to be sure¡ªpowerful, knowledgeable, breathtakingly beautiful, and she¡¯d taught Ellaenie more of magic in a couple of tendays than her previous tutors had managed in five years.


    But now she was letting herself be herself, and though her power was, Ellaenie knew, only a fraction of her husband¡¯s¡­the melancholy and self-doubt and heartache rolling out from her was so achingly beautiful as to bring tears to the eyes. In the firelight, she seemed more than just a beautiful woman, she seemed eldritch in a way that resisted description. It wasn¡¯t anything to do with her appearance, but the sense of complex and subtle power weaving around her.


    Then the impression faded, just as Ellaenie had begun to recognize it. Rheannach stopped singing, looked over her shoulder, smiled, and beckoned Ellaenie to join her.


    ¡°Are you alright?¡± Ellaenie asked.


    ¡°As well as I ever am.¡± Rheannach mashed the cup with the handle of her knife. ¡°How do you like my husband?¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s¡­overwhelming.¡±


    ¡°Mm. That he is. And he¡¯s got your mind feeling full of broken rocks, I¡¯d guess.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s¡­accurate.¡±


    ¡°And flirted with you too, I¡¯m sure.¡±


    ¡°Flirted is¡­a tame word.¡±


    Rheannach barked a short laugh, ¡°Hah!¡± and nodded. ¡°Oh, yes. I know very well how tame he isn¡¯t.¡±


    Ellaenie watched her for a moment, frowning. ¡°You¡­don¡¯t mind? He¡¯s your husband. Doesn¡¯t that mean¡ª?¡±


    ¡°It means fidelity, love. Fidelity and faithfulness. For you, in whatever marriage you find, that may mean exclusivity. Not in ours. He and I have both had many dalliances over the long years, and I would be delighted if you were ever one of his. In due time, anyway: you''re definitely not ready for him yet.¡±


    Ellaenie watched her for a long second, then decided, well¡­in for a steel, in for a silver. ¡°¡­I don¡¯t understand.¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s like you love him unconditionally, but at the same time he hurt you terribly and you resent him for it, and the largest part of you wants to forgive him but at the same time you think he needs to really feel how he hurt you and not take your love for granted...¡±


    Rheannach inhaled through the nose, sharply at first, but slowed.


    ¡°Sorry,¡± Ellaenie apologized. ¡°I shouldn¡¯t pry.¡±


    ¡°No, no. Pry away. It¡¯s just that being seen so clearly by one so young stings a bit.¡± Rheannach set her cup down and looked back across the lake toward the cabin. ¡°It¡¯s true. Completely true. You have me exactly right.¡±


    ¡°What happened between you two?¡±


    ¡°Little sister¡­I hope you get to enjoy love. I hope you find it and flourish in it. It¡¯s a wonderful thing. But when you do, rejoice most of all in the fact that you will get to choose love. I never did. I was created loving him. I was created to love him. And I do love him, more than I could ever put into words. But I never got to choose to love him. That is a terrible thing to do to somebody, and the worst part is, it''s the one truly thoughtless thing I''ve ever known him do.¡±


    ¡°¡­Oh.¡± Ellaenie didn¡¯t know what else to say.


    They sat in silence awhile, until Rheannach picked up her cup and sniffed it. Apparently she found it good. ¡°Enough about my husband. You¡¯ve a head full to bursting, and you need something to empty and settle it. That¡¯s what I¡¯ve been preparing for you.¡± She waggled the cup.


    ¡°What is it?¡± Ellaenie asked.


    ¡°It¡¯s exactly what we talked about. I plan to drink a tea made of strange mushrooms, and dance naked in the night.¡± Rheannach smiled, then tilted her head and offered the cup. ¡°Would you like to join me? After everything you just learned, it will be a moment of simplicity.¡±


    ¡°I¡ª¡± Ellaenie blinked, feeling all sorts of things and thoughts rushing through her head. Heat in her cheeks and ears, tension in her chest. Embarrassment, propriety, the fear of what scandal it would cause if the people of Enerlend found out what their duchess was doing. But the astonishing thing, when she took an honest look at her feelings, was that the true answer was¡­yes. Right now, she wanted to do exactly that.


    She took the cup and sipped from it. At Rheannach¡¯s encouragement, she drank a little more, about half, then handed it back. She watched her immortal mentor drink the rest in a single swig, then set the cup carefully down by the fire again.


    ¡°It takes a minute to work,¡± Rheannach said. She flopped onto her back and gazed up at the distant earthmotes far away on the other side of the worlds. A wave of her hand invited Ellaenie to do the same.


    Ellaenie did, feeling foolish and nervous and like she¡¯d just taken a big step off into the open sky and wondering if it was too late to take this decision back, even though deep down she didn¡¯t really want to¡­


    The feeling faded as she looked up at the Worlds. She recognized those earthmotes. That long skinny one was¡­how was it pronounced again? P¨¡p¨±pau?oleo. A land of endless plains and steppes where she¡¯d heard the women even gave birth in the saddle. And that, casting Papu¡¯s trailing edge into Eclipse, was Yonguitang, where the people were all dwarves and believed in doing things the Right Way¡­


    Crowns it was beautiful. All of it. She could see lakes and the dark stains of forests, and the distant frosty expanse of the Endless Earthmote, whose other side must be far behind and below her.


    She felt a sense of warmth alongside her, and turned to look at Rheannach. Raksuul. Beloved-Soul. And oh! She deserved that name so much. Here was young little Ellaenie, just a human among all the millions, billions who¡¯d ever lived, and Rheannach was here, mentoring her, lying next to her, teaching her¡­


    The surge of affection and gratitude she felt almost bowled her over.


    ¡°You¡¯re feeling it already, aren¡¯t you?¡± Rheannach asked.


    ¡°I just feel¡­Oh! Thank you.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t thank me yet, dear one. This has barely started¡­¡± Rheannach smiled, then looked back up at the distant sky. ¡°It¡¯s all so close, isn¡¯t it? All those earthmotes are so far away, but you could sail to any of them¡­¡±


    ¡°I feel like I could reach out and touch them,¡± Ellaenie agreed, looking at them again. ¡°They¡¯re just¡­they¡¯re all right there¡­And it feels like they¡¯re¡­like I¡¯m¡­¡±


    ¡°Like you¡¯re part of it?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡± So much so. It was like she¡¯d been wearing a heavy leather hood like a falcon her whole life and suddenly it had slipped and let her feel the breeze through her hair. Like the moment of opening the window in a stuffy library and the relief of fresh air.


    ¡°You are, you know. You¡¯re part of it all. There¡¯s no difference between us and this and any of it. It¡¯s all one thing, really¡­¡±


    Ellaenie nodded dreamily. That made perfect sense.


    ¡°We¡¯re all made for the same reason,¡± Rheannach continued, softly. Her expression had relaxed, as though the troubles and foul feelings she¡¯d been holding onto had entirely evaporated.


    ¡°To be loved¡­¡± Ellaenie recalled E?rrach¡¯s earlier words.


    ¡°Exactly. The same reason I was made. To be loved, and to love. If you truly understand that one thing¡­well then you know the most important thing there is to know in all the worlds.¡±


    That sounded¡­really nice. It sounded beautiful, so much so that Ellaenie almost wept as the thought dropped into her brain like ink dripping into water, where it curled and coiled and clouded, and¡ª


    Rheannach stood, suddenly. She shot a grin down at Ellaenie, then unfastened the cords that held her dress closed, and shed it onto the grass with a shimmy and a flourish. She reached up to unpin and untie her hair, and the tight braids she¡¯d worn around the crown of her head spilled down, down, down and out in a glossy midnight curtain, all the way to her ankles. She spread her arms, took a deep breath, sighed in distinct pleasure, and her skin almost seemed to glow in the firelight.


    Ellaenie gawped at her: in this moment, Rheannach looked divine.


    Then, with a cry of ¡°come on, little sister! Dance with me!¡± she swept up her hand drum and whirled wildly about the fire with no modesty, no courtly grace, no formal steps, and no thought beyond the sheer joy of moving and being.


    Ellaenie wanted to know what that felt like. She wanted it more than she¡¯d ever wanted anything.


    Even so, when she stood and tried to join in, nerves stopped her fingers at the buttons of her blouse and fear kept them trembling there for a second. But Rheannach smiled at her, and Ellaenie knew deep in her soul she had nothing to be ashamed or afraid of. Not here. Here was special. Here was sacred.


    Here, she was loved.


    She surrendered to it. In moments there was not even a thread left to shield her, and she stood gloriously bare, spreading her arms to show the entire world here I am. This is me.


    The breeze rolled unhindered across her skin, and for the first time in her life, Ellaenie truly felt its touch. The last walls came crashing down, and she no longer remembered where she stopped and creation began. All she knew was that she wanted to throw herself into this and never look back.


    So she did.


    With a giddy laugh she flung herself into motion around the fire, took Rheannach¡¯s hand, and danced naked through the night with a goddess.


    <hr>


    <blockquote>


    ¡°Sexual congress between humans and elves is dismayingly common and can even yield a pregnancy, the infant¡¯s species being determined by that of its mother. Bear in mind of course that elves are conceived only when one of their kind is dead and awaiting a body to reincarnate into. It is for this reason that elf-maids are notoriously promiscuous: they rarely risk pregnancy, and will always be glad of the child if it should happen. Meanwhile, a human male provides a vigorous and strong plaything for them to use for their own pleasure.¡±


    ¡ªDenrick Roth, Elves


    </blockquote>


    <h2>The Wandering Isle</h2>


    Somewhere in the endless sky 09.06.03.06.05


    From what Jerl had gathered of Isleman culture, it was considered very bad luck indeed to ¡°curse¡± their wandering isle with a name. The traditional view was that a named isle would eventually ¡°find its place¡± in the great dance of the Worlds and stick, becoming a minor earthmote.


    The inn, though¡­Even from the air, Jerl could see the words ¡°Po?i ai pi?o¡± painted large on the roof.


    As the Cavalier Queen drew near, dozens of people rushed out of the building to line up along a stone quay chiselled into the isle¡¯s edge, and started waving swatches of bright fabric at them. Jerl saw one of them swarm up a semaphore mast like a veteran rigger. In moments, the flags at the top were fluttering in and out:


    WELCOME.


    CLEAR TO DOCK.


    ¡°Well, that¡¯s encouraging,¡± Amir commented. ¡°I was beginning to worry Mouse might have doomed us to a lifetime of being ignored.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve never visited an Isle before,¡± Jerl commented.


    ¡°From what I gather, Isleman culture emphasizes hospitality. We¡¯ll likely be pampered generously. But for the love of Raksuul, respond in kind. The Islemen speak to each other, you don¡¯t want a reputation for taking advantage of them.¡±


    ¡°Amir, c¡¯mon. I¡¯ve never cheated a man out of an honestly won coin in my life.¡±


    ¡°Good. Oh, and put on your best. We want to look rich.¡±


    ¡°We do?¡±


    ¡°Trust me.¡±


    Well, fair enough. Jerl ducked into the cabin and picked out his nicest clothes, spritzed on a little perfume to chase away the scent of mothballs, and broke into his rarely-worn collection of rings. A merchant needed rings if he wanted to be taken seriously by other merchants, after all.


    He checked himself out in the mirror. Hair still a bit too long, stubble in that awkward middle ground where if he left it he¡¯d have a beard, but right now it just looked scruffy...no time to shave, alas.


    Good enough.


    Sure enough, once the business of bringing the Queen in and lashing her to the bollards was done, the crew were fairly showered with welcome by some of the most extravagant people Jerl had ever met.


    Showing off wealth, it seemed, was a big part of Isleman life. Everyone was dripping in it, from brightly patterned silks to the way the women wore coins and ribbons braided into their hair or sewn into their headscarves. Jerl alighted from the Queen into an instant party: somebody was playing a lively bouzouki, with accompaniment from a hand drum and flute. A lass swooped in from his left to press a mug of light ale into one hand and a small sweetbread into the other, graced him with a kiss on the cheek and was gone before he could even think to say hello.


    ¡°Crowns stone me,¡± Derghan commented, as he received a similar welcome. ¡°We should hitch on an isle more often!¡±


    ¡°Yes you should, friend!¡± boomed a new voice. It came from a large, avuncular man who spread his arms wide then clasped Jerl¡¯s hands and damn near crushed them. ¡°Welcome, welcome! Forgive my family, we do not speak Garanese so good, yes?¡±


    ¡°And I speak none of your tongue, so you have me beaten already, sir!¡± Jerl replied, slipping easily into his talking-to-strangers merchant charm. ¡°But what a welcome! I feel spoiled rotten!¡±


    ¡°Hah! This? Is just a taste!¡± the man clapped Jerl on the arm and led him inn-wards. ¡°I am Cerkos! This is my family, my inn, my isle!¡±


    ¡°Captain Jerl Holten, and this is the Cavalier Queen,¡± Jerl replied, warming to the man¡¯s enthusiasm. ¡°This here is Derghan of Clan Vargur, my engineer, My navigator Amir at-Bezwi, and my quartermaster Sinikka Nerissith.¡±


    Cerkos¡¯ hospitable smile betrayed the tiniest flicker when he looked at Sin, whom Jerl noticed had not received a drink and a snack. The moment was gone in an eyeblink, the overpowering hospitality back in full force.


    ¡°You are merchant brig, yes? Crew of, what? Fifty?¡±


    ¡°Fifty-five.¡±


    ¡°Room for all, then! You hitch with us far, I hope?¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re ultimately headed for Mehoom, on Il?yede. But, right this moment, we¡¯re more looking to go wherever the wind takes us.¡±


    ¡°Hah! Said well!¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re low on supplies, so we¡¯ll probably part ways with you the first time we¡¯re near a suitable port¡­¡±


    Cerkos tilted his head curiously as a woman darted in to whisper something in his ear, then was gone again in a swirl of skirts. He frowned at the ship, then back at Jerl.


    ¡°Not to talk away a guest, but Long Drop is very close. I would be bad host if I did not tell you, you can go there. Or maybe you are leaving, but with not enough supplies¡­?¡±


    Well, shit. Of course the man was shrewd enough to see the implications of a ship leaving a port like Long Drop with inadequate provisions. And he had a large family to think of.


    Oh well. There was a fine art to honesty.


    ¡°Sir, I promise you, your family will not regret having us for guests.¡±


    ¡°Mm. And the man who has been shot? He needs better healer than we have here.¡±


    Jerl met his gaze levelly. ¡°We have two good healers looking after him. And I of course will not fail to match the generosity you show us¡­¡±


    For just a few heartbeats, Cerkos¡¯ eyes were calculating rather than friendly. His smile, on the other hand, had lingered through the entire exchange like it was painted on over his real expression. Quite abruptly, he relaxed back into it and the moment of interrogation was gone.


    ¡°Ach, forgive me. I mean no prying. Is language barrier, yes? Now, I must ask how you are paying for your stay? Fifty-five is many mouths to feed!¡±


    ¡°I have a hold full of goods from the Winter Bazaar. I daresay we can barter a fair exchange, don¡¯t you?¡±


    Cerkos¡¯ smile became its full warm and genuine self again. ¡°Of course! But that is for later! Now, you are new guests! Eat, drink, find your beds! We talk business tomorrow!¡±


    ¡°I look forward to it,¡± Jerl replied. He shook the innkeeper¡¯s hand, and then Cerkos was gone with a jingle of jewelry and a booming greeting for some more of the crew.


    Amir watched him go with a pensive expression. ¡°He is most definitely going to gouge us.¡±


    ¡°Yup,¡± Jerl agreed. ¡°Can¡¯t blame him, though. He has a family to think of, and we¡¯re clearly in trouble.¡±


    Sin nodded. ¡°True. But don¡¯t get carried away in your empathy, Jerl. This is a long road ahead of us, and we¡¯re going to need as much wealth in our pockets as we can, nay?¡±


    ¡°Needs must, right now. I¡¯m sure this is the only safe way for us to slip the Clear Skies¡¯ net. But I hear you.¡±


    She nodded, then frowned slightly as a young man who was definitely one of Cerkos¡¯ sons slipped past her with a bottle of wine and shot her the first truly unfriendly look Jerl had seen anyone on this island wear. It was gone in a blink, but the message was clear: elves were tolerated here, rather than welcome.


    ¡°¡­I think I¡¯ll stay on the ship,¡± she declared. ¡°Somebody needs to.¡±


    ¡°Are you okay?¡± Derghan asked, frowning at their hosts.


    ¡°I¡¯m fine. It¡¯s okay.¡± She favored him with a small smile, then looked to Jerl. ¡°We need to go over inventory, if you¡¯re going to talk business with Cerkos in the morning.¡±


    Jerl nodded, seeing the sense of it. ¡°I¡¯ll be up in a few minutes, then.¡±


    She nodded sharply, and departed. Sure enough, the islemen gave her a wide and mistrustful berth.


    Jerl caught Mouse¡¯s eye as he came in, carrying one end of Whisker¡¯s litter. There was still that whole conversation to have, about Mind and what Mouse could do now, but from what Jerl had already seen, secrecy was in short supply here on this isle. Cerkos¡¯ family made a big show of hospitality and welcome, but they were still vulnerable, alone and unsupported on their tiny fragment of stone with nobody to depend on but themselves. They¡¯d be fools not to keep a very close watch on their guests, especially the ones who carried a hint of trouble with them.


    And Jerl and the Queen must be carrying a great deal more than just a hint.


    Best save that conversation for when he could be certain of privacy, then. Besides, it looked like Whisker still needed some care if he was going to pull through this.


    He ate the sweetbread at last¡ªvery sweet, made with honey and figs and nuts¡ªdrank the ale, which turned out to be excellent and light, licked his fingers clean, and headed out to catch up with Sin.


    He found her up on the poop deck, looking up into the rigging.


    ¡°Hey.¡±


    ¡°Hey.¡± She looked back down at him. ¡°Shame they don¡¯t have a proper docking cradle. We¡¯ll need to get the rigging crew to keep an eye on the bag as if we¡¯re still afloat.¡±


    ¡°Andony knows what he¡¯s doing. He¡¯ll stay on top of it, I¡¯m sure.¡±


    She nodded, and leaned against the rail, facing out away from the isle. ¡°You¡¯ve started calling him by his first name, I notice.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s a damn good man. Saved my life during that first loop, actually. At the cost of his own.¡±


    ¡°Too bad he doesn¡¯t know it happened.¡±


    ¡°Yeah.¡± Jerl took the spot next to her. ¡°Just one in a long string of conversations I need to have.¡±


    ¡°Got one for me?¡± She asked, cocking her head with a small smile.


    ¡°Eh¡­maybe? Do you know a Bekhil at all?¡±


    Her expression locked down instantly. ¡°¡­Bekhil.¡±


    ¡°I¡­take it you do.¡±


    ¡°Every elf knows that name. Where¡¯d you hear it?¡±


    ¡°From Talvi herself.¡±


    ¡°Figures.¡± Sin looked out into the sky toward one of the crown-points of the Unbroken Earthmote, off in the distance. ¡°What was she like, for you?¡±


    ¡°She was¡­a moment of peace when I needed it most,¡± Jerl ventured. He¡¯d actually spared some thought the last few days of how he could put the encounter poetically. ¡°She swept in when I was dying in the snow, and healed me, and spoke to me, and made me feel¡­better. About everything.¡±


    ¡°Hmm. Sounds like she was restraining herself a bit. Which is considerate. I mean, you¡¯d had a rough few days.¡±


    ¡°Restraining herself?¡± Jerl almost laughed, disbelieving at that thought. He¡¯d been so dazed, exhausted and purpose-driven that he¡¯d barely noticed at the time, but if he had to give a one-word summary of his encounter with the Crown, ¡®restrained¡¯ was not on the list. Nowhere near the list. Not even on the same damn earthmote as the list.


    ¡°Oh, trust me, Jerl. The full force of her is a terrible thing.¡±


    ¡°I can believe it¡­but when did you meet her?¡±


    ¡°A few times, over the millennia. The gods walk the worlds, nay? If you stick around long enough, you¡¯ll cross paths with ¡®em, once or twice. Though, she uh¡­I think she has a bigger soft spot for humans than for fey. We rather badly disappointed the Crowns, I¡¯m afraid.¡±


    ¡°The Ordfey, right?¡± Jerl turned his head up to the sky and searched it until his eyes found the vast crescent of Garanhir, far away. ¡°I never really studied history.¡±


    ¡°Oh, I know. You¡¯d be a lot slower to trust elves if you had. By rights, we should all be getting the kind of reception the Islemen just gave me.¡±


    Jerl looked at her. Sin¡¯s expression was blank and distant, giving away nothing. But her tone had carried a freight of disgust and self-loathing.


    ¡°Was it really that bad?¡± he asked.


    ¡°It was¡­¡± she paused, framing her words. ¡°In the first years, we didn¡¯t really know there was any difference between fey and men. Pointy ears versus round, the Law of Form, but that was basically it. We intermingled freely, and knew nothing of each other except that we were kin. My first wife was human, actually.¡±


    ¡°Wife?¡±


    ¡°I was male in my first life. It doesn¡¯t matter. The point is¡­well. It took a while for the truth to show. Human women had babies all the time, but Fey women? It wasn¡¯t until the twentieth year that the first elf-child was born to my tribe, and another fourteen before he fell into the Covka-unelir, the remembering-trance. Up until that moment, we¡¯d thought death worked much the same for us as for humans: one life, and gone. We¡¯d actually begun to despair that our abysmal birth-rate would be the end of us and wonder what cruel joke the Crowns were playing on us, until we realized that the number of elven souls in the worlds is fixed, and we can be conceived only when there are feysuul waiting to be born in limbo, the threshold between lives.¡±


    ¡°Alright¡­?¡± Jerl nodded along, listening.


    ¡°Then time passed. Lives passed. Generations passed. And it became all too clear that elves are eternal and humans are¡­not. That to love a human is to love something that will be gone forever while your own soul lingers to remember and miss them. Passing from one chal to the next eases the sting of it a bit, but¡­¡±


    ¡°But we must still seem like mayflies to you.¡±


    ¡°And there¡¯s the problem right there. After a while, we stopped caring about humans at all. And a while after that, we stopped thinking of you as people. Humans were just¡­part of the landscape. As permanent as a ripple on a river. They¡¯d always be around, but even at our most attentive and mindful, we barely noticed each wave as it lapped on the riverbank. But you were useful, still. So¡­¡±


    ¡°So you enslaved us.¡±


    ¡°Mm.¡± Sin nodded darkly and turned so she was leaning her butt against the wall, rather than her elbows. ¡°And that was the line we shouldn¡¯t have crossed. Because then, humans just became property. Pretty property, perhaps, but just things we kept around the house. How much gentleness and respect do you show to your furniture?¡±


    ¡°Well, I don¡¯t smash it just for the joy of seeing it break¡­¡± Jerl pointed out.


    ¡°No. No, that was a madness that set in after the first uprising. The slaves tried to win their freedom by force of arms and, well¡­an unled militia with no armor or real weapons versus a disciplined and well-equipped army who¡¯d honed the art of war over hundreds of years. You can imagine how it turned out.¡±


    Jerl nodded grimly.


    ¡°Afterwards, the ringleaders were publicly executed. Made an example of, to really drive home to the humans that we were their rightful rulers and masters. And oh, people came out to see it. I still remember the way the crowd cheered when the heads rolled across the sand¡­¡±


    She shivered.


    ¡°And the madness set in,¡± Jerl concluded for her.


    ¡°Over generations, yes. It started with executing lawbreakers and ¡®upstarts¡¯ who wanted nothing more than their Crowns-given freedom, and taking a little too much joy in the spectacle of it. But as the human population grew, it became apparent that we¡¯d never keep them under control if they outnumbered us too much. So one of the advisors to the emperor, a Fey by the name of Othris, proposed that we should keep the human population ¡®manageable.¡¯¡±


    ¡°Meaning slaughter.¡±


    ¡°Mhm.¡± Sin¡¯s jaw clenched. ¡°They painted it as necessary for the sake of the empire¡¯s stability. So Othris orchestrated regular culls, to keep the human population in check. The slaves were told they were being relocated, sold to a distant city, but we their gracious masters allowed their families to stay together.¡± Her knuckles, already parchment white, were tense and angry as she gripped the wood. ¡°Instead, they were marched to hidden camps in the mountains of Valai province, and now their skulls line the walls of the catacombs the Valanese call ¡®Empires of the Dead.¡¯¡±


    ¡°Red Lady¡­¡± Jerl grunted, appalled.


    ¡°Mhm. At some point, the Ordfey just stopped giving life any value at all. Humans were a useful pest that needed culling to keep in order, and an individual elvish chal didn¡¯t mean much either. We became an empire of death-worshippers, obsessed with maintaining order through pain and fear. There was no logic behind it, Jerl. We just¡­went mad. All of us.¡±


    ¡°Even you?¡±


    Sin sighed and turned around to look back out at the sky. ¡°Chal-an-chal,¡± she said, simply.


    ¡°A life for a life¡­you¡¯re on a penance.¡±


    ¡°Mhm.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s hard to imagine you being that cruel, Sin.¡±


    ¡°Kind of you.¡± She sniffed thoughtfully and scratched at the scar tissue where one of her ears had been cut shorter some years ago. ¡°But naive. Everyone has that evil in them, waiting for the circumstances to be right. Believe me, some of the shit the humans did to us in their revenge was¡­understandable, but they crossed some lines even the Ordfey never did.¡±


    ¡°Like what?¡±


    ¡°Staked captured elves out in eclipse for the shades to take. The only way to permanently destroy an elf.¡±


    Jerl shivered.


    ¡°Mhm. That¡¯s what happened to Othris. Though, if anyone in all the Worlds¡¯ history deserved it, it was them.¡±


    ¡°Glad they didn¡¯t catch you.¡±


    ¡°Oh, no. After the humans started doing that, that¡¯s when we all started wearing the vamdraech. No, I died fighting, on the steps of the imperial palace. Afterwards, there were so few elves left that my rebirth took¡­a long time. I was in limbo for centuries. By the time I was born again, the human empires that sprang up in the ruins of the Ordfey had largely forgotten our crimes. It was all ancient history to them.¡±


    ¡°And Bekhil?¡±


    ¡°Bekhil was the Imperial consort. And they were the very worst of us.¡±


    Jerl blinked at her, trying to imagine that in light of what he¡¯d just heard. ¡°Worse than Othris?¡±


    ¡°Othris proposed the culls out of what they felt was necessity, and their vivisection of slaves was motivated by a desire to master medicine. The Emperor, Ekve, they ordered the culls believing it was the only way to keep order. Bekhil, though¡­the slaves named them ¡®The Laughing Death.¡¯ They were truly insane.¡±


    ¡°I heard once that an Ordfey orgy wasn¡¯t considered complete unless a slave was tortured to death,¡± Jerl said. ¡°I always took it for exaggeration.¡±


    ¡°I wish. No, that was Bekhil¡¯s doing. They were the driver behind the insanity, the one who danced gleefully into the abyss and led us all along behind them like a piper leading a march. Where the Imperial Consort went, the masses followed. They were a monster on par with Civorage. Worse, maybe: at least we can say of him that the Word of Creation drove him mad. Bekhil just used to get off on killing.¡±


    ¡°What happened to them?¡±


    ¡°What do you think? They died laughing, while slaughtering men by the hundred as they stormed the imperial palace.¡±


    ¡°So you fought alongside them?¡±


    Sin turned and looked Jerl dead in the eye. Her expression was hollow and resigned.


    It took him a second.


    ¡°¡­No.¡±


    ¡°Let me guess. Talvi¡¯s message: it¡¯s ¡®you¡¯re loved, no matter what.¡¯¡±


    ¡°Sin¡ª¡±


    ¡°Yeah. Sin. It¡¯s the best name I¡¯ve ever worn.¡± She looked out over the rail again. ¡°That¡¯s what she said to me the last time we met. ¡®You¡¯re loved no matter what.¡¯¡±


    ¡°How can you be¡ª?¡±


    ¡°Because a goddess took it on herself to break me, Jerl. Talvi sought me out in my first chal after the empire¡¯s fall, when I was still brooding and planning how we might reclaim what was ours¡­she found me, and she took me, and she tore me apart and put me back together again. She made me see myself for what I was. And then, when she¡¯d reduced me to a sobbing, self-hating ruin, once I was finally and truly sorry for what I¡¯d done¡­she told me she loved me.¡±


    ¡°No matter what.¡±


    ¡°Mm.¡± Sin¡¯s eyes were dry, but her expression said it was because there was no point in weeping: no ocean of tears could ever be vast enough. ¡°It¡¯s not a kind sentiment. To be shown, completely, just how awful you truly are, to know on every level that you couldn¡¯t be less worthy of love¡­and then to receive it anyway? That¡¯s what destroyed me, more than anything else she did. When she held me to her breast and kissed the top of my head and said those words¡­¡±


    She finally hung her head and turned her head away to hide her face.


    ¡°¡­What did you do afterwards?¡± Jerl asked. It felt like the right question at the right time.


    Sin sighed, and wiped off her cheek. ¡°I founded the Nerissith tribe in that life, and the R¨¹wyrdan in my next, then the Wethcradh, and finally the Kacovaraan. The Penitent Four. I invented the doctrine of chal-an-chal and I¡¯ve been living it ever since. I¡¯ll probably live it forever. The code calls for giving my life in service to one human for every life I took unjustly in that time, but the honest truth is¡­I don¡¯t know how many that is. Dozens of people a week, for a thousand years¡­¡±


    Jerl didn¡¯t know what to say. He settled, lamely, on ¡°¡­Shit.¡±


    ¡°Mm. Hence why I don¡¯t mind these Islemen giving me the frosty treatment. It¡¯s no less than I really deserve, nay?¡±


    ¡°If¡­you say so¡­¡±


    ¡°I do. Humans have short memories, Jerl. To you, everything I just said is a story, ancient history. Reading about the Ordfey in books, or hearing it from a friend¡­it just doesn¡¯t carry the proper weight for your people.¡± She cast a look back over her shoulder at the inn. ¡°Honestly, it¡¯s nice to meet some humans with long memories. Reminds me that I¡¯m not forgiven, just¡­forgotten.¡±


    ¡°And loved,¡± Jerl repeated.


    She paused, her face screwed up in an incredible effort of self-control: it wasn¡¯t quite enough. She sniffed loudly and shook her head as if she could rattle her emotions out if she just shook it violently enough.


    ¡°Four damn you, don¡¯t you start as well¡­¡±


    ¡°Tough.¡± Jerl touched her arm lightly. ¡°I¡¯ve only ever known you as you are now. And who you are now is a good person.¡±


    ¡°No I¡¯m not,¡± she said, rejecting that idea with a sharp cut of her hand. ¡°I¡¯m still the Laughing Death under it all. There is nothing, and I mean nothing in all the worlds that gets me worked up in quite the same way as killing. So whatever ideas you may have about me being a good person, you forget them, mellwan. You¡¯ve barely known me twenty years, and my soul-name is just one of the many things I¡¯ve never told you. I¡¯m a twisted monster, I always have been, I always will be, and whatever goodness you see in me is just a reflection of you, because I¡¯m your weapon and you¡¯re my conscience.¡±


    Jerl¡¯s heart sank. He hated to hear a friend say such awful things about herself. But¡­on the other hand, he¡¯d rarely heard her speak with such conviction, either.


    ¡°So that¡¯s what chal-an-chal is really about,¡± he guessed.


    ¡°Partly. If I can¡¯t be trusted to do the right thing, perhaps I can trust somebody else to point the way for me.¡± She looked out over the sea of clouds again, then turned and smiled at him. ¡°You¡¯re doing pretty good so far. I feel like we¡¯re doing good. I feel like all this might just wash away a drop of blood.¡±


    ¡°If we succeed.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m with you to the end, no matter what it may be.¡±


    Jerl nodded, accepting it. ¡°I think I understand why, now.¡±


    ¡°Yeah¡­you know, you¡¯re the first human I¡¯ve ever told the truth to. I¡¯d, uh, appreciate if you kept it to yourself.¡±


    ¡°Of course.¡±


    She nodded her gratitude, and finally turned away from the rail. ¡°C¡¯mon. We¡¯ve inventory to do, nay?¡±


    True enough. Jerl gestured you first, and headed down into the hold while she grabbed the cargo manifest. He was quite sure that Amir was right and a large chunk of the valuable goods they¡¯d carried up here from Sky¡¯s End would go on paying for their room and board on the Isle.


    Best to know exactly what they had, so he could haggle. Besides, he needed some quiet work so he could chew over everything he¡¯d just learned and decide what it meant. Talvi had given him that message for a reason, she¡¯d wanted him to know this. She¡¯d wanted his relationship with Sinikka to grow and change, somehow. She wanted him to understand her better.


    Why? Just because that was generally a good thing, or was there deeper purpose to it?


    Both?


    He¡¯d find out, he supposed. And with that, he set his thoughts aside and cracked on with the work.


    About Sinikka, he had no worries at all.

 Chapter 6: A Moments Respite (part 2)

    <blockquote>


    ¡°Surely you¡¯re joking? Let the man write! His book about witches has done more to bring new maidens to the Craft than any effort by any number of beldames.¡±


    ¡ªThaighn Gaile Briar-Tongue, commenting on Denrick Roth


    </blockquote>


    <h2>In the arms of a goddess</h2>


    Somewhere in the woods 09.05.15.12.03


    Ellaenie woke to a curious mix of cold and warm. The air was chilly, damp with pre-dawn dew that wanted to settle on her. It nipped at every bit of her it could find, but was held at bay by a warm cloth and¡­


    And warm flesh. Rheannach¡¯s. They were asleep cuddled up together under the witch-herald¡¯s tartan cloak, and still just as skyclad as they¡¯d been last night.


    Far from freaking out about it, though, Ellaenie felt safe in a way she hadn¡¯t imagined she¡¯d ever feel again. She probed her memory, finding it surprisingly intact considering how changed her state of mind had been last night. They¡¯d danced, and danced, and danced until Ellaenie¡¯s legs had given out and she could dance no more. Then they sat a long while wrapped up innocently and platonically but intimately in each other and talked about life and the secrets of the universe until sleep would let them talk no more.


    The rustle of footsteps through grass made her realize she was staring lovingly at Rheannach¡¯s sleeping face, entirely lost in how wonderful she was. She blinked and half-turned, already knowing who was coming.


    Sure enough, Saoirse gave her a crisp, slightly envious smile as she knelt by the white puddle of ashes that was all that remained of their campfire, and transferred some fresh fuel and kindling onto it. She waved her hand over the neat pile and in seconds it was smoking, then smouldering, then aflame and crackling.


    ¡°Ye look transformed,¡± she commented, placing an iron teapot beside the flames. Ellaenie suddenly realized she was thirsty.


    ¡°I feel sore,¡± she replied, sitting up.


    Saoirse seemed to find that amusing. ¡°Aye, that¡¯s a common feature o¡¯ transformation. Ye¡¯ll be far sorer after your first child, I promise ye that. An¡¯ ye¡¯ll be sore in every finger when ye come tae be my age.¡± She gave a slight sorry smile at her own arthritic knuckles. ¡°¡¯Tis an unavoidable thing, transformation. Ye will change and age and die, lass. Ye¡¯ve no choice in that. But ye had a choice last night, and I¡¯m fair glad to see ye chose well and committed to it.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m glad I did too.¡±


    ¡°Aye.¡±


    ¡°Why didn¡¯t you join us?¡±


    ¡°Ach, dear one. The Maiden is born o¡¯ the Mother. Last night was no¡¯ a moment for the coven¡¯s Beldame.¡± She smiled wistfully. ¡°I surely shall another time, though. Now go on: your own clothes are o¡¯er there, I took the liberty o¡¯ washing them for ye. And there¡¯s hot tea an¡¯ toast waiting when ye¡¯re dressed.¡±


    Much as Ellaenie would have been happy to remain like this a while longer¡­the air was just a little too chill. And she was still very thirsty. And hungry, too. She nodded, stood, stretched and shook out her limbs, and went to get dressed.


    She took one last second, though. Set aside a moment to stand on the lake¡¯s edge and truly appreciate this moment that would never come again, and never be the same moment if it did.


    Saoirse handed her a hot cup when she returned to the fire, covered neck-to-ankle in warm tweed once more. ¡°Congratulations.¡±


    ¡°On what?¡±


    ¡°Ye¡¯re a witch true, now. Ye¡¯ve dined wi¡¯ a Crown, danced wi¡¯ a Herald, heard truths unknown tae most, opened yerself completely tae the worlds an¡¯ been reborn through communion. Ye¡¯ve faced test after test this last night, and ye passed them all so gracefully, ye ne¡¯er even noticed them.¡± Her eyes glinted warmly in her wisened face. ¡°I could¡¯nae be more proud o¡¯ ye.¡±


    A complex emotion flowered in Ellaenie¡¯s heart, one she could only name petals of. One of them was a healthy dose of gratitude, though, so she stooped and gave her mentor a hug.


    ¡°Thank you¡­¡±


    Saoirse gave her a grandmotherly kiss on the cheek and sat back. ¡°Ye look surprised.¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t really realize what was going on.¡±


    ¡°I would hope not! This was a test o¡¯ yer character, not o¡¯ your cynicism.¡± Saoirse nudged Rheannach with her foot. The herald stirred then sat up, smoothing her hair down with one hand while pulling the tartan around her body with the other. ¡°Had ye been all alert an¡¯ wary an¡¯ on guard th¡¯ whole time, ye would¡¯nae have had this wonderful morning, would ye?¡±


    ¡°I suppose not¡­¡± Ellaenie agreed. She sighed happily when Rheannach rose to her feet, gave her a hug from behind and a kiss on the cheek, then vanished in search of her own garb. She hadn¡¯t known affection like this in¡­in a long time. She was only just realizing what a hole its absence had worked inside her. ¡°So¡­that¡¯s it, then? I¡¯m actually a witch.¡±


    Saoirse cackled. ¡°Ye were expectin¡¯ something more arcane? Some great expression o¡¯ power or a ceremony an¡¯ diploma, as the Artful would do? Now why would ye expect something silly like that?¡±


    ¡°I¡­don¡¯t know? I wasn¡¯t expecting anything, really.¡±


    ¡°The only correct answer. By way o¡¯ example? King E?rrach is power. He has no need tae show it, except for the benefit of others. An¡¯ his power comes frae his humanity. So too will yours.¡±


    ¡°But there was that¡­that moment, when he first looked at me. It was like¡ª¡±


    Saoirse raised her hand, stopping her from having to flounder for the words to describe it. ¡°I ken well what it was like. He spared ye the worst of it, as he did for me. ¡®Twas just the first o¡¯ many things that happened tae ye last night, an¡¯ to be reborn is no¡¯ a small thing. If you look into yourself, really meditate on it¡­ye should find your perspective has changed in small ways, here and there.¡±


    ¡°Well, yes. I was just walking around stark naked a minute ago and it felt perfectly right. That¡¯s¡­¡±


    ¡°A start.¡± Saoirse grinned. ¡°Go on, drink. Even the young need tae warm their bones.¡±


    Ellaenie drank. Crowns, she¡¯d never had a nicer cup of tea. It was gone in seconds, and Saoirse refilled it with a chuckle.


    ¡°¡­Is this what it¡¯s always like?¡± Ellaenie asked, sitting down on the grass next to her.


    ¡°Which bit? The terrible knowledge, or the dancin¡¯ around fires in naught but ¡®yer bare skin?¡±


    ¡°Both?¡±


    Saoirse laughed. ¡°Oh, aye! ¡®Tis always both. ¡®would be a most grim thing tae be a witch if there was¡¯nae this fun side tae it¡­which ye¡¯ll get tae enjoy often, I assure ye. But the Craft is about humanity, an¡¯ what ye did last night was but one facet. Joy an¡¯ youth an¡¯ dancin¡¯ an¡¯ bein¡¯ alive in the moment. But to grow fully in the Craft, ye need to explore them all. Death, birth, sickness, love, triumph, failure, the burden o¡¯ responsibility an¡¯ the wisdom o¡¯ knowing when yer first responsibility is tae yerself¡­all of it.¡±


    ¡°That¡­sounds like a lot.¡±


    ¡°Aye. ¡®Tis the work o¡¯ living. It¡¯ll take yer whole life, an¡¯ the lesson will only end on the day ye pass.¡±


    Ellaenie drank her second cup of tea as she thought about that. Idly, she wondered where Rheannach had vanished to.


    ¡°So what¡¯s next?¡± she asked aloud.


    ¡°For a young lady such as ye?¡± Saoirse grinned, then pointed with her eyes to something behind Ellaenie¡¯s left shoulder.


    She turned. Rheannach was still wrapped in her cloak at the edge of the lake, standing so close to E?rrach they were almost touching. His head was bowed slightly, his posture soft and tender, vulnerable as he said something to her. It looked like a question, and like the answer she might give ruled him.


    As she watched, Rheannach stretched up on tip-toe to kiss him.


    ¡°That,¡± Saoirse said. ¡°The true power that runs this world. And always has.¡±


    Ellaenie smiled, and not just at the wave of infectious joy and relief that rolled off E?rrach, as his wife leaned her head against his great chest and forgave him. A rolling front of lush grass and flowers sprang forth from around them, crashing into the trees and becoming mosses, vines, and unfolding new leaves into early life. It washed away across the lake in a single hefty ripple, leaving fishes leaping as it passed, and the waters clear and clean and perfect.


    And Ellaenie understood.


    <hr>


    Their time in the forest was over, for now. It was a pleasant walk with pleasant conversation as King E?rrach cleared a wide, easy path for everyone to follow, though his might was fully unrestrained this time, and he pressed on the world and her senses so much, it was an honest effort to keep her head above water, as it were.


    Mercifully, he was considerate of her plight, and chose modesty in the form of a plain yet properly kingly woodland ensemble, with gauntleted gloves, cloak, plain moccasins upon his huge feet, and a sturdy, well-tooled leather belt.


    He didn¡¯t spare her a wink or flirtatious banter though, and he¡¯d plainly chosen his clothing to remind her what kind of man and body lurked underneath his simple finery¡­but she could tell the difference between playfulness and intention.


    Today, Rheannach was the center of his universe.


    The love radiating off them both was overpowering and genuine, spreading life and joy through the land with their every step. E?rrach¡¯s power flowed through both of them, and Rheannach enriched it thoroughly with her own. There was the warm feeling that whatever had divided them was mended again, and their happiness was making the forest thrive.


    Strangely though, they weren¡¯t taking the same route back. Instead it seemed to go on, and on, and on¡­


    They came suddenly into a wide clearing, bordered on one side by the edge of the earthmote. Which was impossible! Enerlend was Inner Land, the only landlocked Garanese province, hundreds of miles from the nearest edge cliff.


    Wild intuition gripped her and she looked up¡ª


    Up at Garanhir. Far enough away as to be overhead, dominating the horizon. Where she had started! Somehow, when they were in the forest¡ª


    E?rrach chuckled. ¡°That¡¯s one of the trickier things to do, but I will teach you, when you are ready. You will also need to make a fair study of the Art and of sciences currently unknown to the people. Only the most ambitious witches or mages ever learn it from me or the other Crowns¡­¡±


    If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    ¡°One step at a time,¡± Rheannach commented. She¡¯d walked arm-in-arm with him the whole way and looked even more like a goddess right now than when she¡¯d been dancing last night¡­


    Ellaenie looked back up. That was home, over there in the sky. She¡¯d thought maybe she might one day fly above it in an airship to visit other provinces, or maybe even make a state visit to the Craenen, the Yunei Empire, or some other foreign land¡­


    But this was the first time she¡¯d ever set foot on another earthmote. The first time she¡¯d seen the cloud sea over the edge, for that matter. It was a jarring thing to encounter, a trip-up on what she¡¯d thought was the journey home.


    ¡°Hmm!¡± He must have sensed her general thoughts and had a mischievous grin on his face. ¡°I think there¡¯s one last little favor I can do our young Maiden-Duchess today¡­¡±


    Rheannach attempted and failed to restrain her amusement. ¡°Oh not again, you huge lout¡ª!¡±


    ¡±Always! But you can¡¯t tell me it won¡¯t get people talking!¡±


    ¡°¡­Dare I ask?¡±


    ¡°No!¡± He held out a hand as if he meant to embrace her. ¡°But I promise, this will be memorable. Come.¡±


    Sure enough, he lifted her up in one great arm, while the other held Saoirse.


    Ellaenie had an intuition of what he meant to do as he looked up at Garanhir and adjusted his footing, and a spark of panic shot through her. ¡°Wait, what about the horses¡ª?¡±


    She felt suddenly frozen in place while he crouched down, took aim¡ª


    A brief flash of utter black, a short but severe pulse of heat from E?rrach¡¯s body, then she was free to wiggle again in his arm and they were soaring through the air, straight up as if they had been a firework fired from a mortar.


    Later, Ellaenie would struggle to decide if the shriek she emitted was terror or thrill.


    The roar of the wind was tremendous, but she could hear his voice as he held them close. ¡°Enjoy it! You¡¯ve nothing to fear!¡±


    The flight was incredibly fast, too fast to understand. A vast distance all but vanished in hardly any time, and as she felt them slow, curve over, and fall again¡ª


    She could see all of Garanhir below her. For a glorious moment, it was a gentle, sedate fall¡­


    ¡°Quite the view, eh? Take it in, it won¡¯t last long.¡±


    Sure enough, they began to pick up speed. Terrible speed. She had no doubt he was somehow protecting them from the sure violence of such a gale, but none of that mattered. He took aim at a forest, a clearing¡ªthe very spot where they had started! Faster, faster, faster, the land coming up to meet them¡ª!


    They landed, a short walk from the encampment. Again there was that moment of frozen, pitch-black protection just before they hit, and where they landed was now a wide circular flat of newly-solidified stone, far too hot for her to walk upon. He set her down well clear of the thing¡¯s heat, and before her running entourage could arrive, he gave her a grin, a wink, somehow¡­turned around himself¡ª


    And he was gone. Ellaenie caught a glimpse of him galloping away over the grass in stag form, the edge of the woods parted for him like water for a diver, closed behind him, and he was gone. Behind her, she could hear the sounds of her entourage rushing across the path toward her.


    Back to the ducal life.


    ¡®Tis no¡¯ so bad, love, Saoirse replied.


    And now, you know you always have an escape, Rheannach added.


    Ellaenie thanked them both with a smile, then turned around. Her lady-in-waiting Lisze was, impressively, leading the charge despite her long skirts. No doubt she¡¯d cluck and fuss and want to clean her up before they headed back¡­


    Let her.


    She was home. And neither it, nor the worlds, would ever look quite the same again.


    <hr>


    <blockquote>


    ¡°Surprisingly accurate and well-researched, except for where he is completely wrong.¡±


    ¡ªA review of Denrick Roth¡¯s Elves, seen in the Auldenheigh Morning Post.


    </blockquote>


    <h2>The Wandering Isle</h2>


    Somewhere in the endless sky 09.06.03.06.05


    Sure enough, Cerkos drove a stiff bargain, but Jerl benefited from an unexpected advantage in the negotiations: Mouse.


    It seemed there was a lingering echo of Leave Us Alone even here. Mouse just seemed to pass beneath notice, now. The Queen¡¯s crew would excuse-me and work politely around him but he had to actively touch them or get their attention if he wanted something. The same went for the Islemen, who were happy to give him a room and a spot at the dinner table, but just¡­didn¡¯t seem to realize he was there otherwise.


    He¡¯d put it to good work, and gone poking around in places he wasn¡¯t supposed to be. He¡¯d assessed the inn¡¯s storeroom, taken a stroll around the farm that covered most of the isle¡¯s surface, and come back some interesting obvservations about what they were flush with, and what was short.


    The Cavalier Queen had a hold full of whisky, furs, steel ingots and timber. The first, the islemen could make for themselves, and indeed the large orchard along the isle¡¯s trailing edge was the source of a truly excellent apple brandy that Jerl knew he was going to miss after they¡¯d parted ways. The furs, surprisingly, were less useful than he¡¯d guessed: the isle sometimes dipped down as far as Talvi, so of course the islemen kept a small mink farm.


    Steel and timber, though? The isle just wasn¡¯t large enough to produce either. Though half of it was wooded and the islemen practiced an ancestral form of forestry that yielded good straight poles and plenty of both firewood and charcoal, they were already getting as much from it as they could. Planks, beams and boards suitable for new construction and furniture? They were dependent on trade for those. And steel to make nails and new tools? Forget it. There was no mining a wandering isle.


    So, thanks to Mouse, Jerl was going into the negotiations knowing exactly what his opposite number needed, and what he could afford to pass on. But that wasn¡¯t the most important part.


    He¡¯s more desperate than he lets on.


    The thought was Mouse¡¯s, floating into Jerl¡¯s head. But it made perfect sense: wandering Isles had suffered terribly from the advent of airships. They were, in many senses, a relic of a past age and the islemen way of life wasn¡¯t sustainable without a regular flow of travelers using their services.


    But what incentive was there to use their service? A wandering isle¡­wandered. That was their nature. Some, especially over in the Craenen archipelago, had a schedule of sorts and looped around and around predictably between the same motes, but Cerkos¡¯ isle was a true rogue, going wherever it pleased and entirely at random.


    By such rogues had people spread across and settled all the worlds, in the deep past. But nowadays, if you had the choice between chartering an airship to go exactly where you wanted, or paying much the same to an Islemen family to go Crowns-knew-where¡­why would you? The number of people traveling with purpose far exceeded the number traveling out of sheer wanderlust. Certainty of destination was the advantage by which the airships were squeezing out the islemen.


    The Queen hitching on them was probably the first real custom the Islemen had enjoyed in a while. Cerkos would be a fool not to take Jerl and his crew for everything he could get.


    And he couldn¡¯t afford to irritate Jerl into leaving early, either. The longer he could persuade Jerl to stay, the more coin his family would have to support their way of life until the next opportunity arose.


    Armed with this knowledge, and with Mouse¡¯s quite comments and observations, Jerl bartered hard. He had his own crew and the fate of the worlds to think of, after all. And in the end, both parties walked away feeling like they could have won just a slight bit more¡­which in Jerl¡¯s view meant they¡¯d succeeded in finding a fair balance. He wasn¡¯t ripping these people off, nor being ripped off in turn.


    Good enough.


    He and Mouse went for a walk along the walled road that ran right around the isle¡¯s edge, to clear their head and have some time alone.


    ¡°You¡¯ve still got the box, I notice,¡± Jerl commented, once they were a minute or so away from the inn and out of earshot. It wasn¡¯t hard to spot: Mouse kept it in his jacket pocket, and turned it over and over with his fingers basically all the time.


    Mouse nodded. ¡°You think I should throw it away over the edge.¡±


    ¡°And you know why I think that.¡± Jerl stopped walking and turned to face him. ¡°So why haven¡¯t you?¡±


    Mouse paused, then gestured for him to follow: he stepped over to the well-built cobblestone wall that marked the isle¡¯s very edge, and pointed over it. ¡°See what¡¯s below us?¡±


    Jerl leaned over and looked down. They were passing through some weather today, so the isle was periodically washed in a silvery fog that left the skin damp, but at this precise second things were clear enough to peer through the cloud sea.


    Even to his experienced eyes, it took him a moment to distinguish the Talvian taiga from the pale haze of intervening sky. The Unbroken Earthmote was below them, and its fingers clawed outwards in both directions, framing the entire sky.


    ¡°When I get rid of this thing, I want to be certain,¡± Mouse said. ¡°I want to throw it into the dark Outside, not leave it lying in the woods somewhere. The Crowns already hid it down there somewhere, underground, and Civorage still managed to trip over it.¡±


    Jerl couldn¡¯t argue with that.


    ¡°I suppose that¡¯s our next step after Il?yede,¡± he mused.


    ¡°Once Dad¡¯s safe, yeah.¡± Mouse joined him at the wall.


    ¡°How is he today?¡±


    ¡°Bit of a fever. Imdura says it should pass, but they¡¯ve done all that magic can do, now.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s got him this far.¡±


    ¡°Yeah¡­¡± Mouse sighed heavily. ¡°¡­He¡¯s affected too, you know. They all are. By me, I mean, and this power. I have to actually touch my own father on the arm and say hello for him to notice I¡¯ve entered the room. You¡¯re the only one on this entire isle who seems to be able to remember I exist if I¡¯m not directly in front of you.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ve both spoken Words of Creation. It¡¯s¡­¡± Jerl paused, then sighed and reasoned there was no sense in holding back his thoughts from somebody with the power of Mind literally at his fingertips. ¡°It¡¯s not what I thought I¡¯d planned, and I¡¯d prefer you hadn¡¯t, but Crowns I¡¯m glad to have somebody I can share that fact with. I was beginning to worry it would be very lonely, having all this power and nobody who really understood it.¡±


    ¡°How much power do you have?¡± Mouse asked, and gestured that he¡¯d like for them both to keep walking. ¡°You knew that safe combination, and you always seem a step ahead of everyone, but¡­¡±


    Jerl nodded as he fell in alongside and they strolled onward toward the orchard. ¡°If I die, or if I choose, I can¡­go back. Return to the root of a series of branching paths, and try a different option.¡±


    ¡°So¡­it¡¯s impossible for you to lose, then.¡±


    ¡°I wish it were that simple,¡± Jerl grunted. ¡°No, there are still ways this can all go incredibly wrong. I saw all my crew die, last time around. Some of them died saving my life. I¡­don¡¯t know how much I can bear of that. And for all I know, some of the best futures can only come about if they die. I don¡¯t know if I can do that.¡±


    ¡°Shit¡­¡±


    ¡°And if Civorage ever gets his hands on Time, he could outmaneuver me. Or perhaps, for all I know, if he manages to get his hands on that box in your pocket, if he really tried, he could tear Time from my head¡­¡±


    ¡°Could I do that?¡±


    Jerl shrugged. ¡°I daresay you could, If you didn¡¯t mind destroying me in the process.¡±


    ¡°Fuck. No. Definitely not!¡±


    Jerl chuckled. ¡°Good to know.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m having enough trouble with this power anyway, I don¡¯t need to add more to it,¡± Mouse added, with a touch of mischief that had been missing these last few days.


    Jerl snorted, amused. ¡°Aw, and here I thought it was ¡®cuz you like me.¡±


    ¡°¡­I do. A lot.¡±


    Jerl turned to face him again. ¡°Even after rummaging through my mind like you did?¡±


    Mouse was blushing. ¡°Actually¡­especially after. You¡¯re really not like anyone else I know.¡±


    Jerl took a step closer, tilting his head curiously. ¡°How so?¡±


    ¡°Crowns, Jerl. It¡¯s not one thing. It¡¯s¡­¡± He cleared his throat and trailed off. Jerl was taller than him, broader in the shoulder, thicker of arm and core¡­just bigger. And if he was honest with himself, he enjoyed that dynamic. He enjoyed the way his mere presence, this close, was enough to fluster. He¡¯d done it many times, and mostly the victim of his looming fell into silence: Mouse, it seemed, started talking faster when he got flustered. ¡°It¡¯s the way you know what you want and you go for it, but what you want is to do right by people, and you¡¯re at peace with yourself, like you¡¯ve never made a decision you really regret in your whole life, but I thought everyone has regrets and doubts but it¡¯s almost like you¡­the ones you have aren¡¯t enough to even slow you down¡­¡±


    Jerl leaned in a little closer. ¡°Go on¡­¡±


    Mouse was transfixed, now. He could have stepped back any time he liked, but instead he was looking up into Jerl¡¯s face and trembling. ¡°Weren¡¯t we, uh¡­weren¡¯t we going to try and hone my skills? At some point? Go over what I can do?¡±


    ¡°Prob¡¯ly should,¡± Jerl agreed. ¡°But there¡¯s no privacy on an airship. If there¡¯s anything else we need to go over, just you and me¡­now¡¯s the time. What was that you were saying about me going for what I want?¡±


    ¡°What, uh¡­what do you want?¡±


    Their noses touched. Then their lips. Just long enough to make the point, but Crowns! Jerl hadn¡¯t wanted somebody like this in years¡­


    He got the feeling Mouse hadn¡¯t, either. But also that any more than this would be too much, too fast, too soon. That was okay, though. Just so long as they really understood each other.


    ¡°That, for a start,¡± he said, and grinned roguishly.


    ¡°¡­Right. Yeah. Uh.¡± Mouse looked quite stunned. ¡°¡­Wow.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll take that as a compliment.¡±


    ¡°It¡­yeah. Yeah, uhm¡­.yeah.¡± Mouse rallied a bit and found some of his snark again. ¡°Is that all?¡±


    ¡°For now. We do need to sort out what Mind does for you and how much of it you¡¯re going to keep and how much to put back in the box.¡± Jerl took a step back. ¡°Right now you¡¯re not really in control of it, are you? Not if even your own dad is forgetting you.¡±


    He saw Mouse refocus, sober, and nod. ¡°No. No, I¡¯m not.¡±


    ¡°Right. Let¡¯s fix that. ¡®Cuz I think you¡¯re the right person at the right time to have this power, but it¡¯ll still destroy you and the people you love if you¡¯re not careful.¡±


    ¡°I know. You didn¡¯t feel Civorage the way I did, Jerl. He¡¯s¡­he¡¯s not human, any longer.¡±


    Jerl nodded grimly, but still managed to find his roguish grin from somewhere. ¡°Right. Let¡¯s keep you human, shall we? I think I¡¯ll prefer you that way.¡±


    His reward was a laugh, a smile, and a nod. A little uncertain, a little troubled still¡­but for the first time since the mansion, Mouse seemed to relax and become himself again, which was what Jerl had really been after. His premonition was that Mouse wouldn¡¯t be able to master Mind until he¡¯d got his own mind settled first.


    Now that they¡¯d managed that, or at least made a start of it, they could work on putting the Word back in its box and keeping only what they needed to put the world right. So they walked, and talked, and shared a burden that nobody else in the worlds had to carry, for now.


    And Jerl was very, very glad of that.

 Chapter 7: Trials

    <blockquote>


    ¡°The Proper Way informs every aspect of Yunei life. There is the proper way to scrub the floor, the proper way to dress, the proper way to wrap a gift, the proper way to marry, and even the proper way to die. Conforming to these, in Yunei tradition, guarantees reincarnation in a higher caste: failure guarantees rebirth among a lower caste or even (whisper it) as a foreigner.¡±


    ¡ªPrince Ruber of Valai, My Travels.


    </blockquote>


    <h2>Auldenheigh</h2>


    Enerlend, Garanhir Earthmote 09.05.15.12.03


    There was smoke over the city.


    Well, there was always smoke over the city, from the industrial quarter, from the bakeries, from people¡¯s log burning stoves and fireplaces at home, and so on. Auldenheigh was a city of a million tiny columns of faint whispy grey ascending from the rooftops. On still days, the smoke lingered and the air became thick with it.


    This, though, was the smoke that said a number of buildings had come down. A large, black column rooted in¡­Ellaenie squinted and frowned¡­in Whitten, one of the poorer districts.


    There were horses on the road, too. The cavalry, riding out to meet her and escort her into the city. Riding alongside them she recognized Lord Gilber Drevin, holding his hat on with one hand while he bent over his horse Jasper''s neck and urged him to gallop harder.


    ¡°¡­Oh dear.¡±


    On the horse alongside her, Lisze fidgeted anxiously with her necklace. ¡°What could have happened?¡±


    ¡°Let us hope it was just a fire¡­¡± Ellaenie replied. But¡­no. She had a feeling. Gilber wouldn¡¯t be riding out to meet her so urgently if it was just a case of a bakery going up. She gestured for her entourage to follow, set Rosewild into a canter with a twitch of her heels and the reins, and met him halfway.


    ¡°Your Grace.¡± Gilber took off his hat respectfully when they reined in next to each other, then swept his hand across his head in a pointless attempt to tidy up a shock of red hair that had long since been reduced to an expanse of scalp. ¡°I trust your trip was¡­enjoyable?¡±


    ¡°It was wonderful,¡± Ellaenie nodded, and allowed the Craft to carry much more than the mere three words could. She saw him understand, too. Of course he did: he¡¯d been the one to send to Rheannach in the first place. He was a practitioner of the Craft himself.


    But that was a conversation for later, in private. She pointed toward the smoke column with a look. ¡°Tell me what¡¯s happened.¡±


    His expression turned from pleased to somber. ¡°There was an¡­altercation last night, back in the city. At the Oneists¡¯ soup kitchen. An agitator stirred up the poor who were there for a meal.¡±


    ¡°Against who?¡±


    ¡°Against you, your grace. And against the entire structure of the nobility, landownership, the Dukesmoot and the Parliament of Barons.¡±


    Ellaenie nodded, seeing the problem. ¡°How much damage?¡±


    ¡°A few shops were burned, but Lord Manewill¡¯s infantry contained it. He dispersed the rioters with a cavalry charge after they tried to break into the Blueheddle fabric mill to assault the owner. I¡¯m afraid four men were rather badly trampled in the charge. Two of them died, one¡¯s lost his leg, and the last is paralyzed if he survives.¡±


    Ellaenie scowled. ¡°The shops. Small local businesses?¡±


    ¡°Quite so.¡±


    ¡°I want to see it in person.¡±


    She saw some of the cavalrymen glance at each other uncertainly, but Gilber just nodded. ¡°I should warn you, the mood is still quite¡­unsettled.¡±


    ¡°Noted. Thank you.¡± He wasn¡¯t actually advising her not to go, after all.


    His dark blue eyes glinted shrewdly as he nodded again. ¡°Very good, your grace.¡±


    Lisze leaned over to whisper frantically. ¡°Ellie, if you¡¯re going to appear in public you really need some cleaner clothes, and¡ª¡±


    ¡°No, Lisze. I need to show up as I am. Trail-dirty and unbrushed hair and all. Right now they need me to be human, not ideal.¡±


    ¡°I¡­yes. Okay. Um.¡± Lisze cleared her throat and glanced anxiously at the smoke, looking quite nervous at the prospect of going so close to such violence. Sweetheart that she was, though, Ellaenie could clearly see she¡¯d follow her anyway. But¡­


    No need. Let her off the hook. She touched her friend reassuringly on the hand. ¡°I promised you¡¯ll get to make me perfect later, and I mean it. Why don¡¯t you head up to the palace and get things ready?¡±


    Lisze¡¯s nod was more like an eager, tiny vibration of her head. Ellaenie glanced at the cavalrymen and recognized one of them, a young officer¡­what was his name again? She summoned the Craft and interrogated her memory¡­


    Ah, yes. ¡°Mister Dremmond, if you would be so kind as to escort my lady-in-waiting safely back to the palace?¡±


    He blinked, clearly surprised at being remembered, then slapped his fist to his chest in a salute. ¡°Of course, Your Grace.¡±


    Ellaenie twisted in the saddle to look behind at the rest of her entourage. ¡°That goes for everyone. Head back and make ready for me.¡±


    In minutes, she was alone except for Gilber, the cavalrymen, Saoirse, Rheannach and her equerry Major Droles. Good.


    The cavalrymen formed an escort before and behind, and they set off at a trot. Whitten was outside the old walls which separated the ancient elvish inner city from the younger urban sprawl outside. Still, the name alone hinted it was one of the oldest districts: Wight Town. Wight being the least derogatory Feydh word for a human.


    There were several more unpleasant ones. Wansuul, which meant something like ¡°shattersoul.¡± Kine, which implied that humans were livestock¡­


    The elves had been such a cruel people, once. Some still were.


    Whitten had never been an affluent part of the city. Too far from the river for the merchants, too awkwardly far around the wall from Vathelan¡¯s gates to interest the wealthy professionals. The Parliament of Barons had heard motions a few times to raze the whole thing and turn it into a park. Parliament had, wisely, rejected this as a stupid move that would achieve nothing but spend public money on a project driven by pure spite which would do nothing more than displace and anger the poor folk who lived there.


    And it seemed they were angry enough already.


    A tickle in the back of her head was Saoirse¡¯s mind, touching hers. Careful, lass. The common folk can get right vicious when the mood is wrong.


    They¡¯re my people. I can¡¯t hide in my palace and ignore them¡­ Ellaenie replied.


    That ye cannot. Still: Have a care.


    Ellaenie nodded, and they rode the rest of the way in both physical and psychic silence.


    Sure enough, word spread faster than horses could trot, and by the time they reached Whitten the people were out on the streets to see her. There was a lot of pointing and whispering, and most of the crowd dropped curtseys or bows as she passed, or waved and called out greetings like ¡°Bless you for comin¡¯, your grace!¡±


    But only most. There were definitely some stony faces and folded arms toward the back, who watched her pass in silent thought. And no small amount of the gestures of respect were insincere, she felt. What was expected, not what was felt.


    The infantry and firefighters had pulled down a number of buildings around the burning ones, to keep the blaze contained. Exactly the right thing to do of course, as half the poor districts could have gone up without that measure. But it still left several people picking over their homes and businesses and wondering what came next. They were so understandably distracted that when the ducal party arrived, several of them had to be nudged quite hard several times by their friends to stop digging in the rubble.


    ¡°Nobody¡¯s still missing are they?¡± Ellaenie asked Gilber, as the horses halted.


    ¡°Not that I know of.¡±


    ¡°Good.¡± Ellaenie looked around at the dirty, exhausted faces, and slid down off Rosewild¡¯s back rather than remain mounted.


    ¡­Now what?


    A young girl of four years at most was staring at her, holding a rather badly fire-damaged stuffed pony. But it was the woman behind her who caught Ellaenie¡¯s eye: clearly the child¡¯s mother. The poor woman looked like the last ember of hope in her life had just flickered and gone out. And she was holding her arm awkwardly.


    Still, she dropped a curtsey as Ellaenie approached. ¡°Y-your grace¡­¡±


    ¡°Are you alright?¡±


    The woman hesitated. ¡°I¡¯ve¡­I got all that matters, your grace¡­¡± she ventured, and rubbed her daughter¡¯s hair. But the word no was screaming out of her, writ large in the lines of her face, the invisible tears and the tension in her shoulders. She had no idea what she was going to do next.


    ¡°I take it one of these was your home¡­¡± Ellaenie turned and looked to the pile of rubble.


    ¡°And my livin¡¯. The family business. We been bakers goin¡¯ back forever, and now¡­.¡± The woman cast a forlorn look at her ruined livelihood.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re too kind, ma¡¯am. We¡¯ll make do. Won¡¯t we, Trishy?¡±


    The child nodded, still staring up at Ellaenie with wide-eyed fascination. Ellaenie squatted down in front of her. ¡°Trishy, eh? And who¡¯s this?¡±


    ¡°Sh¡¯s Squeaks, y¡¯grass,¡± the child offered, in the half-formed tones of one still getting the hang of speech.


    ¡°Is Squeaks alright?¡±


    ¡°She go¡¯ all burned up¡­¡± Trishy pointed out, sadly.


    ¡°Oh, that¡¯s a shame. I hope somebody can repair her¡­¡± Ellaenie gave the child a smile, then stood up again. ¡°Speaking of which, madame, I can¡¯t help but notice¡­¡± she gestured to the baker¡¯s arm. ¡°Are you hurt?¡±


    ¡°Oh¡­just a touch flame-licked, ma¡¯am,¡± she forced a brave smile. ¡°Nothin¡¯ to trouble yourself over.¡±


    ¡°I know a little healing magic,¡± Ellaenie offered.


    ¡°Oh, I, I couldn¡¯t, your grace¡ª¡±


    ¡°Please.¡± Ellaenie took her hand, gently. She focused the Craft as she did so, feeling it come even easier now. Well, King E?rrach had said he¡¯d¡­unlocked some things for her, somehow.


    She didn¡¯t need to fake the warmth and concern she projected, but she did concentrate it. Let it radiate out of her in what Saoirse had taught her was called a glamer by the Craenen. A subtle bit of psychic magic, empowering her own natural presence and charisma.


    It worked. Tears sprung into the baker¡¯s eyes and she nodded miserably. ¡°I¡­thank you.¡±


    Ellaenie nodded and unwrapped her arm a bit. The flesh beneath was more than just flame-licked: Ellaenie found herself staring at an expanse of angry red and blisters. She didn¡¯t even notice the sympathetic ¡°oh!¡± that fell out of her mouth as she touched her fingertips to the burns and¡­


    No magestone. Of course. She¡¯d given it away as a sacrifice at that altar in the woods, and she hadn¡¯t had time to prepare a new one or a witchly fetish. Oh well. She focused, and¡­


    And healed.


    It was so easy, suddenly! The energy seemed to flow from her fingertips in a cool, soothing torrent and the baker sighed¡ªsobbed, almost¡ªas the burns along her arm faded, the blisters receded and the pain condensed down into an intangible knot that Ellaenie seized in her fingertips and drew out of her body. She held it for a second, then smiled down at the awestruck little girl and blew on the tiny spark of agony so that it disintegrated and blew away like a dandelion clock.


    ¡°Oh, Crowns¡­¡± The baker rubbed her now unmarked skin. ¡°A little healing magic, is that?¡±


    ¡°I have good teachers,¡± Ellaenie demurred. She looked around. ¡°Have there been no doctors come to help?¡±


    ¡°I heard there was these Oneists offering healing but they ran out of magic ¡®fore I could see ¡®em, ma¡¯am.¡± The woman cast another forlorn look at her ruined home. ¡°I were at th¡¯ bank, but they said my insurance don¡¯t cover bein¡¯ torn down unless the building is actually on fire.¡±


    ¡°Did they, now.¡± Ellaenie¡¯s sympathetic mood darkened into anger on her behalf. ¡°I see. Well. I¡­forgive me my manners, may I ask your name?¡±


    ¡°Oh! Mury, your grace. Uh, Muriel Baker. Baker the baker, that¡¯s¡­that¡¯s us.¡± She ventured a small, lame and terribly sad impression of a smile at what was obviously a long-running joke.


    Ellaenie clasped the woman¡¯s flour-roughened hands in hers and gave them a reassuring squeeze to go with her reassuring smile. ¡°Well, Mury Baker the baker¡­if you need work, you come up to the palace kitchens. You wouldn¡¯t believe the amount of bread we get through, I¡¯m sure.¡±


    ¡°Your Gr¡ª?¡±


    ¡°I mean it. They will know to expect you. I only wish I could make the same offer to everyone.¡± Ellaenie looked around at the circle of people who were standing back and watching them. Time to speak to the crowd. ¡°I cannot put everything right. I wish I could. If it were in my power I would magic every brick back on top of each other and bring the dead back to their families. Instead what I can do is pay heed. And I can heal. So if there is anybody here with more wounds that need tending, please come forward. I¡¯ll do what I can.¡±


    Somebody at the back of the crowd slipped away while others came forward. She saw it: so did the others. Gilber took a step back and vanished from sight behind his horse.


    Trust him. He had his role to play in this moment, and Ellaenie had hers. Hers was burns, broken bones and bleeding wounds, hands scraped raw from digging through smouldering rubble and lungs weakened from smoke inhalation. She knit them all, and didn¡¯t allow her smile and her warmth to flicker for an instant even as she burned through all the energy she had, as the fatigue and the hunger started to creep in from the edges and start sinking into her bones.


    Rheannach tried to step forward and grant her a reserve, tried to channel some of her own limitless energies, but Ellaenie refused. This was important: She needed to bleed for them, and be seen bleeding for them. They didn¡¯t need effortless divine intervention right now, they needed her. As she was, in her riding clothes, imperfect and dirty. And they needed to see her struggling for them, because what had been attacked last night was an angry man¡¯s mental effigy of power, and she could feel the dark tendrils of bitterness still trying to wrap themselves around the roots of this community. If she remained something ethereal, better, other and beyond them, she would only feed the rot.


    So she healed even as she felt it start to harm her, as her limbs and mind ached and her flesh grew lean and spent, until finally an old man took her hands and shook his head, and looked her in the eye.


    ¡°You¡¯ve done enough, your grace.¡±


    Ellaenie looked around, holding a tense thread of power and letting the witch-sight resonate. There were nods, to be sure, but nods alone were superficial. She needed to look deeper than that¡­


    ¡­He was right. She¡¯d done enough. The dark tendrils were still there, but they¡¯d receded, weakened.


    Crowns, she was so tired. She gave the old man a grateful look and then, with Droles¡¯ assistance, rose to her feet and staggered away, too exhausted to even say a polite farewell.


    A voice said ¡°Put her on my horse.¡± Rheannach. She nodded, reached out for her friend, mentor, mother and angel, and was somehow up on the horse¡¯s back without really noticing how. Rheannach rode behind her, holding her close to make sure she couldn¡¯t fall off.


    She was safe, again. She could relax. She could rest.


    She didn¡¯t remember the trip back to the palace at all.


    <hr>


    <blockquote>


    ¡°Fanciful myths about the Wychwethel abound, chief among them being that only an elf can master it, as mastery requires hundreds of years and a few accidental deaths just to grasp the basics. This claim is laughable to any knowledgeable student of arms, as such an intricate and arcane weapon would in truth be hopelessly impractical. Indeed, on the contrary the Wychwethel is rather an easy weapon to grasp, being well-balanced, sturdy, and with a cutting profile quite forgiving of sloppy edge alignment. Those few elves who have truly devoted themselves over lifetimes to its study undeniably prove there may be no ceiling to the skill one can demonstrate with a Wychwethel, but the legends of its difficulty are cultivated by the Fey themselves for the same reason the weapon is designed to emit its signature howling sound: to intimidate the unlearned and break their fighting spirit before the battle has even begun. This philosophy of bluff and terror is ubiquitous in the elven approach to warfare.¡± -Denrick Roth, Elves.


    </blockquote>


    <h2>Biding Time</h2>


    Wandering Isle, somewhere in the cloud sea 09.06.03.06.09


    To those who used the Navigators¡¯ Guild date system, palindrome days were something of a holiday. They only came around once a year, and they were traditionally a day when crews got a special treat from their captain.


    This year, it seemed, Jerl didn¡¯t have to do anything more for them. The Islemen were taking care of them wonderfully. They made it a point of pride to pamper their guests with good music, drink and food...and frankly a surprising amount of prostitution considering they were all one extended family.


    Maybe that was why it was such a big family¡­


    Jerl had politely declined to take part in that aspect of things, but he certainly wasn¡¯t going to waste a chance to lie around, bask in the sun, drink apple brandy and relax. For the first time in a subjective week, nobody was trying to kill him.


    Bliss.


    His basking was inevitably going to be interrupted, though. Such was a captain¡¯s life. But Amir was a welcome interruption, and Jerl waved him to sit before the navigator even opened his mouth. ¡°Hey. Happy P-day.¡±


    ¡°And to you,¡± Amir settled onto the lounging couch next to him and sampled a honey cake. ¡°You¡¯ll be pleased to know we are still heading in more or less the right direction to pass quite close to Il?yede. It may even be the isle¡¯s destination.¡±


    ¡°You could have taken today off work, you know¡­¡± Jerl pointed out, handing him a fruit platter but not even bothering to offer him a glass of the brandy. Amir didn¡¯t drink alcohol.


    ¡°You forget how much I enjoy my work,¡± Amir retorted. He popped a grape in his mouth and sat back. ¡°I find it quite soothing. Far more so than being shot at.¡±


    Jerl chuckled. ¡°I was just thinking that. Still, we got out of the manor pretty much in one piece. Whisker¡¯s wound notwithstanding¡­how is he today?¡±


    ¡°Breathing more easily, his lungs sound better and the fever is gone. With a few days more to recover his strength, I daresay he¡¯ll be out of that bed and looking to get started on his revenge.¡±


    ¡°Good. We can relax today, but there¡¯s still a big fuckin¡¯ problem out there in the worlds to deal with.¡±


    Amir nodded solemnly, and poured himself a glass of water. They sat in companionable silence for a while before he broached the question weighing on his mind.


    ¡°Do we¡­actually have a plan?¡±


    Jerl shrugged.


    ¡°Shouldn¡¯t we?¡± Amir asked.


    ¡°I mean I don¡¯t know,¡± Jerl clarified. ¡°It¡¯s no accident we¡¯re here on this isle, I¡¯m sure of that. I left myself enough premonitions and foresight to get us here. But for whatever reason, I only left myself enough power to see a little way into the future.¡±


    ¡°And what do you see now?¡±


    ¡°I haven¡¯t actually tried.¡±


    ¡°Shouldn¡¯t you?¡±


    Jerl sighed, shrugged, admitted silently that Amir was right, and concentrated.


    He hadn¡¯t told the crew much about what he¡¯d left himself of Time. For the most part, the breadcrumbs and half-memories were enough. But he did remember the two powers he¡¯d kept for himself beside those, and he had to acknowledge that he must have done so for a reason. He was going to need them.


    So far, his powers of premonition had been as simple as doing whatever felt right, accepting however the future seemed to want to flow. But here and now did, in fact, feel like the right time to try something a little more active, so he set his drink down and closed his eyes. He reached inward, to where a fragment of the word¡¯s power still lingered deep inside him.


    Time. He¡¯d been both amazed and unsurprised to learn just how flexible it really was. Sure, he was used to the idea of a boring ten minutes dragging out forever while enjoyable hours seemed to vanish, but that was just perspective and distraction, right?


    Well¡­yes. But also no.


    Jerl had grown up on the tredmothfa, the long elf-built highway that ran the full length of Garanhir¡¯s leading edge, in the duchy of Cantre, where his family had owned an inn near the shipyard town of Antage, not dissimilar to Cerkos¡¯ family¡¯s. Eventually it had passed to his uncle Baris, who still ran the place to this day: Jerl and his dad had commissioned the Cavalier Queen and struck out on their own in large part because otherwise they¡¯d have been working for Baris the rest of their lives.


    Not that Jerl begrudged his uncle. He was very fond of the old man, and missed him terribly. But the choice between serving in his uncle¡¯s inn or captaining his own airship was no choice at all.


    In any case, Jerl had a vivid memory from when he was young of a circus troupe from Enerlend who¡¯d stayed at the inn while touring along the tredmothfa, and set up for ten days in Antage before moving on. That had been a good and profitable week, but Jerl had been lucky enough to get some time off to actually visit the circus and enjoy their delights.


    Among the many curiosities in their wagon train had been a sweets vendor from Auldenheigh, whose cart had a peculiar machine for making a chewy candy by stretching and pulling the mixture over and over again on a set of rotating arms. Now, the mental image of that coil of gummy, merging, stretching, folding, looping candy was a close fit for how Jerl understood time. Time was no longer a trail through the woods with the past behind him and the undiscovered future ahead, but an ever-distorting, ever-changing mass being pulled and pushed, kneaded and stretched over and over again by every human, fey and divine decision. Everyone could stretch time, everyone did stretch time, all the time.


    But Jerl could stretch it more than most. And he could see it partially from the outside too, if he wanted.


    Now seemed like the right moment to try, at least. So what was around the next bend?


    ¡­


    He surged to his feet, grabbed Amir by the arm and pointed out over the edge and up toward a bank of cloud. Just as Amir followed his finger, a dark shape loomed, wallowed through a fold in the otherwise unblemished white vapor, and was gone again.


    ¡°Shit. Oneists?¡±


    ¡°No.¡± Jerl looked around. The inn had a lookout tower, but its occupant was facing the wrong way, playing his telescope over the sky in front of them and above, watching out for eclipse rather than airships. ¡°Hey! You! Lookout!¡±


    The man turned to frown at him. Jerl guessed he probably didn¡¯t speak Garanese, as most of the Islemen didn¡¯t. So instead he turned and pointed fervently then mimed ringing the bell. The man¡¯s frown deepened, and he turned to raise his telescope to his eye.


    ¡°Crowns damn it, he doesn¡¯t believe me¡­¡± Jerl spat, and broke into a run back toward the inn. ¡°Come on!¡±


    ¡°Who are they? Pirates?¡±


    ¡°Worse!¡±


    They were barely halfway back before the watchman rang the bell, the ding-ding, ding-ding, ding-ding double tap that meant hostile airship to any airfarer. Usually, that would be enough. Pirates preferred soft, unprepared targets, and today was absolutely a day for finding those. If they saw armed militia waiting for them they¡¯d probably turn their attention elsewhere.


    But these weren¡¯t pirates.


    Premonition made Jerl twist and look over his shoulder as he ran, just in time to see the airship burst from the clouds and turn, its gondola swinging wide under the bag as it banked sharply around. She was slim, as murderously beautiful as a knife with a hull made of dark wood and her bag draped lavishly in purple cloth edged in large, golden embroidered lettering.


    Jerl¡¯s grasp of elfish was basic, but he could read enough to recognize the syllable ord among the looping, sharp letters, and that was all he needed to see. Amir, who was much better versed in scholarly matters, could read a lot more and whatever he saw made him hitch up the skirts of his robe so he could run faster.


    ¡°Fuck! Not them!¡±


    It couldn¡¯t be a coincidence.


    The watchbell had done its work, at least, and Cerkos¡¯ family were clearly no strangers to defending themselves. They were swarming out of the inn and farm buildings, grabbing rifles and forming up into squads while the women scooped up the children and bundled them into the inn¡¯s stone core where they could bunker down in the cellars.


    Jerl¡¯s men were Johnny on the spot, too. Especially with Sin and Derghan leading them: Jerl could see them forming up on the airship jetty.


    The airship swooped low overhead, so close Jerl could hear the wind thrumming through its rigging, and figures leapt suicidally over its gunwale, twisting acrobatically through the air as they fell. No human would ever have done something so insane, but an elf could fall from any height and land safely if they so chose.


    One of them, his arms tucked close to his chest, corkscrewed down from the ship¡¯s deck to land on the path in front of Jerl with a slam that broke the flagstones. Smoothly, gleefully, he pivoted on his toes as he drew his Wychwethel with a dramatic flourish: the blade howled menacingly, a sound its owner clearly intended would terrorize his victim into cowering before the killing blow.


    Jerl punched him in the face.


    It was a perfect punch, too, the kind that didn¡¯t feel like he¡¯d hit anything at all. The elf¡¯s eyes widened comically in the shaved instant before Jerl¡¯s knuckles slammed into that perfect jaw and continued along their arc without slowing, hammering the fey raider down in a spray of blood and teeth.


    Elves could be like that. You would never face a deadlier opponent in your life, but they got arrogant if they went a lifetime or two without being humbled. They fell into the bad habit of trusting that humans would hesitate, or assumed that any human they ran across had no idea how to fight them.


    But Jerl had trained with Sin for twenty years, and the trick when confronted with an elf was to never give them an opportunity. Close and attack, instantly and remorselessly, and overwhelm them with a human''s naturally superior size, strength and reach. Fail to do that, and the last experience of your life would be a streak of magically accelerated steel moving far too fast for the eye to follow. He scooped up the wychwethel, which wailed briefly as he used it to confiscate its former owner¡¯s head, stole the hapless fey¡¯s vamdraech as well, and barelled on past the corpse before it had even finished flopping into the dirt.


    A flash of motion from his left made him turn, and time slowed as the Word still lingering deep in his mind reacted on instinct.


    Another elf, clearly enraged by her crewmate¡¯s fall, was charging him at speeds no human could ever match. Her limbs glowed with terrible light as she infused them with magical power, and her expression was pure hatred. And the markings of her war paint confirmed what he¡¯d already known: these were Ordsiwat.


    Patient-Throne, the most notorious elf-tribe. The last remnant of the Ordfey, who still answered and pledged loyalty to that ancient empire¡¯s king, Ekve. Even pirates looked down on them: pirates, after all, were just out to run a business and earn some treasure by taking stuff that didn¡¯t belong to them. It was in their interests to take a ship without bloodshed and leave its crew alive to spread the word that surrender was the better option. Ordsiwat marauders, though, butchered anyone with blunt ears on sight, as a matter of principle, and didn¡¯t do it quickly or kindly. Thank the Crowns there were only a few dozen of them in all the worlds.


    Jerl could guess what this elf was thinking right now: her mind was full of raw indignation at how dare an upstart mayfly steal the weapon of his betters? How dare he have the hubris to strike down his natural masters?


    No matter. Time stretched and bent at the word¡¯s bidding, and Jerl flowed into it. He parried a killing blow that no ordinary man would have even seen coming, stepped, turned, slashed. The elf dropped to her knees, her expression aghast: clearly being bested by a ¡®wight¡¯ was more of a shock to her than suddenly having to hold in her guts.


    ¡°Ke¡­?¡± she croaked. Jerl sent her to limbo without reply.


    Amir was at his side a moment later. ¡°How did you¡ª?¡±


    ¡°Time. Now stop thinking and run!¡±


    From up ahead, he heard the rippling thunder of a rifle line firing. His crew, or the Islemen, he wasn¡¯t sure.


    Another blur rounded the corner, but this one was Sinikka, her own wychwethel gory to the hilt and her face splashed with wide streaks of red. She was breathing heavily, panting, grinning.


    ¡°Bo fa, mellwan! But don¡¯t drop your guard!¡± she barked, and handed him his gun belt.


    ¡°How¡¯s it going out there?¡±


    ¡°These Islers are sharp. Shot ¡®em while they were jumping down, I got the rest. But that ship¡¯s coming around for another pass. They won¡¯t be stupid enough to jump down where we can see ¡®em, next time.¡±


    ¡°Why are they here?!¡± Amir asked, leaning on his knees to pant for breath.


    Sin looked to Jerl. ¡°¡­I see two possibilities, nay?¡±


    Jerl nodded grimly as he finished buckling on his belt. ¡°We¡¯ll figure it out later. You think Ekve¡¯s on that ship?¡±


    ¡°Maybe.¡±


    ¡°Alright. The Queen¡¯s got engines, the Ordsiwat have sails. We can outrun ¡®em against the wind. If they¡¯re here for us, we can lure ¡®em away from the Isle.¡±


    ¡°And if they¡¯re not, we¡¯re just abandoning these people when they need us,¡± Amir pointed out while shaking his head. ¡°Besides, didn¡¯t you see that keel of theirs? It¡¯s a blade. We try and start the ship up, they¡¯ll just slice her bag from end to end before we can get up any speed.¡±


    Jerl glanced up at the elfen ship, which was slowing as it looped lazily out among the clouds to line its nose toward the isle¡¯s far end. Sure enough, the elegant, curved keel along its underbelly gleamed wickedly in the light as it banked. Amir was right, that thing looked like an oversized gut hook. It¡¯d unzip the Queen¡¯s bag like cleaning a fish. ¡°Shit¡­alright. Sin, you¡¯re with me. Amir, get Marren and the lads and bring the bag all the way in in case they decide to slash us anyway.¡±


    ¡°Aye aye.¡± He nodded, and darted away.


    Sin considered the two corpses Jerl had left on the lawn. ¡°Y¡¯know, you¡¯re about the best human student I ever had, but I¡¯m impressed you managed to get two of ¡®em¡­¡±


    ¡°Time. At the moment I needed it, it¡­sped me up, I guess. I¡¯m as fast as you are, now. Faster, maybe.¡±


    ¡°Nice. We¡¯re gonna need that, too, ¡®cuz if they land properly and come in force they¡¯ll sweep the Islers and the crew away.¡±


    ¡°You think we can handle that lot by ourselves?¡± Jerl asked.


    ¡°Not if we fight fair. Which is why I borrowed this off Derghan.¡± She reached behind her, unslung his favorite lever-action carbine, and grinned.


    A rictus of his own spread across Jerl¡¯s face. ¡°¡­Right. Where¡¯s Mouse in all this?¡±


    She blinked at him, clearly drawing a blank for a moment before remembering. ¡°Oh! Uh¡­shit, I wasn¡¯t keeping track of him.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s probably good. Means Mind is still doing work for him.¡±


    ¡°It sure is,¡± a new voice interjected, and Jerl jumped at a touch on the arm. Mouse gave him a cheeky look. ¡°Being a sneaky fucker helps, too.¡±


    ¡°¡­We could use that,¡± Jerl said aloud. And I want you close, he added, mentally.


    ¡°Yup. That¡¯s what I thought.¡±


    ¡°Time to put both your powers to the test then, nay?¡± Sin commented.


    ¡°Absolutely.¡± Jerl discarded the wychwethel and drew his pistols to check they were loaded. ¡°Let¡¯s fuck ¡®em up. Or is Ekve yours?¡±


    ¡°Oh, shit no. We see him, we put him down hard. I¡¯ve nothing to prove to that bastard. Besides¡ª¡± Sin¡¯s grin got even wider, and slightly more manic. ¡°We¡¯ve had that dance a few times before. I know how it goes, nay?¡±


    ¡°Good.¡± The Ordsiwat ship was coming in low over the isle¡¯s far end, now. Jerl could see more of its crew diving overboard, dozens of them this time. Clearly the marauders were unhappy and intent on punishing these human upstarts. There was nothing more to say. They checked their weapons one last time, and set off running. It was like Sin said:


    Time to put their powers to the test.


    <hr>


    <blockquote>


    ¡°There are a minimum of twelve steps in the most basic Yunei tea ceremony, and twice as many in the proper form a barber must follow when shaving a customer. Odd though this ritualization of every aspect of life may seem to a Garanese traveler, the result is a sublime cup of tea, and the smoothest cheeks you will ever have.¡±


    ¡ªPrince Ruber of Valai, My Travels.


    </blockquote>


    <h2>A well-earned meal</h2>


    Dining room, Auldenheigh, Garanhir Earthmote 09.05.15.12.03


    ¡°¡¯Twas the right thing to do, but ye really did push yersel¡¯ too hard, lass.¡±


    Ellaenie nodded, still too tired to actually hold a discussion, but she knew well the danger she¡¯d put herself in. A mage¡ªor witch¡ªwho cast too much and too aggressively without proper use of a magestone or fetish was draining their own body¡¯s reserves. Too much, too hard, too carelessly and, Art or Craft, a practitioner could starve themselves to death in minutes or seconds.


    So, even though she wanted nothing more than to sleep, probably in the same bath that Lisze was having prepared for her¡­first, she had to eat well.


    Spring soup, good cheese, a sausage fritter, eggs¡­she was sure Mrs. Omiger the cook was grinding her teeth at serving such a mismatched selection of leftovers to top table rather than a proper dinner, but right now they were everything Ellaenie needed.


    ¡°Mmf¡­had¡¯doo.¡±


    ¡°Ach, there¡¯s the passion o¡¯ youth¡­¡± Saoirse sighed, and sipped from the large glass of whisky she¡¯d had brought to table for her. ¡°Everything¡¯s the crisis o¡¯ crises when ye¡¯re young.¡±


    Ellaenie paused, her mouth too full of fritter to actually speak, and gave her a questioning look. Am I wrong?


    Saoirse sighed again and drained most of the whisky all in one go. ¡°No, you¡¯re no¡¯ wrong,¡± she replied, aloud. ¡°This morning ye did¡¯nae really exist tae those folks. The duchess was just a name an¡¯ a palace on the horizon. Now, tae the people who were there you¡¯re a real young lady, a powerful healer, and willin¡¯ tae suffer for them. ¡®Tis a powerful bit o¡¯ witchcraft.¡±


    ¡°It was still reckless, though,¡± Rheannach chided gently, and tidied a little of Ellaenie¡¯s hair out of her face.


    ¡°¡­.I¡¯m sorry if I worried you.¡±


    ¡°You did a bit, love.¡± She rose to fetch more soup. ¡°You should have had time to rest after your initiation and encountering my husband. Instead, you¡¯re thrown into¡­all this.¡±


    ¡°All this is why Gilber reached out to you in the first place,¡± Ellaenie pointed out. ¡°How do you know him, anyway? Will you finally tell me?¡±


    ¡°Isn¡¯t it obvious? He¡¯s initiated in the Craft too.¡±


    ¡°You mean you¡¯re Mother to him as well?¡±


    ¡°No, no. Gender matters, love. The rules are different for men, especially when they come to the Craft in their late thirties as he did. But I was there to witness his rites, and I count him as a friend.¡±


    Ellaenie nodded. ¡°Gilber was the one who broke the news to me about my mother and father. He rode all the way from here to Lendwick as soon as the eclipse brightened to tell me¡­¡± She stared into her soup, forgetting her hunger for a moment. ¡°I think it would have been so much worse to hear it from anybody else. He¡­somehow, he softened the blow. As much has anyone could.¡±


    ¡°Aye. ¡®Tis a pain we all must share, dear,¡± Saoirse nudged the soup bowl, reminding her to eat. ¡°Tumors took my mother when I was thirty, an¡¯ my father followed her not long after. I miss ¡®em terribly. Old as I am, far older than they lived tae be, I still sometimes wish they were here so I could ask ¡®em for advice.¡±


    Ellaenie sipped a spoonful, nodding. ¡°I don¡¯t think mine would approve of my learning the Craft,¡± she admitted.


    ¡°Aye, an¡¯ that¡¯s the other half. Ye must be yer own person. We all must hear what our parents want ¡®fer us, then choose how much of it tae keep an¡¯ abide by, but it cannae be all of it. Not if ye¡¯re to be yer own self.¡±


    Ellaenie nodded thoughtfully, then frowned as the sound of voices outside the door grew loud enough to intrude on their conversation. Droles, arguing that she was to be left in peace to recover, and Gilber Drevin insisting he understood but needed to speak with her. She finished the last of her soup in a hurry and called out ¡°It¡¯s alright, Tomos! Let him in!¡±


    There was a pause, then the door opened and Gilber Drevin entered, tucking his hat under his arm. He was dressed down, wearing the clothes of a modest gentleman, somebody whose budget stretched to well-made clothing but not excessive finery. A good disguise for a noble trying to blend in among the public.


    ¡°Lord Drevin,¡± Ellaenie greeted him with an exhausted smile and gestured for him to sit. ¡°How have you fared?¡±


    ¡°Less strenuously than you, your grace,¡± he replied as he took a seat. ¡°I¡¯m glad to see you looking so recovered already. Your efforts caused quite a stir.¡±


    ¡°Oh, believe me, I don¡¯t feel recovered at all. I think I shall sleep for a week after this¡­¡± Ellaenie replied.


    ¡°In any case, it seems to have paid off. The public are talking about you, gossiping. Not just about your efforts healing the injured, either. I gather you returned from your hunting expedition in the company of His Majesty?¡± He shot Rheannach an intrigued look.


    ¡°It¡¯s true,¡± Rheannach said. ¡°My husband decided Ellaenie needed to make quite an entrance¡­¡±


    ¡°Yes, they¡¯re saying your landing left a crater. Now I wonder if His Majesty already knew what was happening in Auldenheigh and decided our duchess¡¯ legend needed a little extra.¡±


    ¡°Och, o¡¯ course he did!¡± Saoirse cackled. ¡°Ye don¡¯t think aught misses his gaze, do ye?¡±


    ¡°I suppose not¡­¡± Gilber turned back to Ellaenie. ¡°In any case your grace, the Oneists are clearly fuming. We¡¯ve been tracking the known circle members, and they are¡­quite frantic with activity. Meetings and movement. Harrowing though your efforts surely were, I think you have done much to heal last night¡¯s troubles.¡±


    ¡°Were they really that successful at stoking unrest?¡± Ellaenie asked, before helping herself to more cheese.


    ¡°Among the desperate poor? Absolutely. The Church of the One have shown them tremendous kindness, while their landlords and employers have not. We can demand their loyalty and respect all we like, as our birthright. But actually receiving it¡­¡±


    ¡°Requires us to deserve it.¡± Ellaenie nodded. ¡°Mrs. Baker said her bank was trying to argue the damage is not covered by her insurance.¡±


    ¡°They all are. Every one of the burned and demolished homes and businesses is facing the same problem: the banks are claiming some loophole in the policy, or that preventative demolition is not covered, only collapse due to fire. Or they¡¯re claiming force majeure.¡±


    ¡°That,¡± Ellaenie asserted firmly, ¡°cannot be allowed. Do please invite them to reconsider their decision. Selling insurance entails risk, after all. And if nothing else, I¡¯m sure they can be persuaded by the power of goodwill to sell future premiums and policies.¡±


    ¡°I took the liberty of drafting the letter already, your grace.¡± He tugged it from an inside pocket and slid it across the table for her. Ellaenie scanned it as she chewed: the language was suitably diplomatic, while still expressing that the duchess would be most displeased should the banks fail to act charitably in this moment of crisis, and that certain longstanding royal appointments would be in danger of being re-evaluated. She held out her hand, Gilber gave her his pen, and she signed it: the palace clerks would send out copies bearing her seal.


    ¡°Thank you. As for the poor¡­It will not do to leave their grievance unreconciled. We should organize aid for the afflicted.¡±


    ¡°From your own treasure?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not much of a birthright if we don¡¯t live up to our responsibilities, is it? Besides, we absolutely cannot let the Oneists have even a shred of a victory in this. In fact,¡± she added, thinking strategically, ¡°make a show of cooperation with the Oneists.¡±


    ¡°There is a danger in that. This magic they wield¡ª¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m certain you know how best to minimize the danger, Gilber. Our strategy here is to be aggressively reasonable. Let us open our hearts, coffers and kitchens to the poor. Let us make a show of contrition and even gratitude for having the public¡¯s grievances shown to us. We will invest in our city¡¯s future, and in the peace and prosperity of our people. And then, if the Oneists disrupt that peace¡­¡±


    Gilber did something he rarely did, and smiled in genuine pleasure. ¡°I understand, your grace.¡±


    Ellaenie returned his smile, then looked to her Mother and Beldame. ¡°What do you think?¡±


    ¡°¡¯Tis an aggressive move on yer part,¡± Saoirse replied thoughtfully. ¡°This was just the first openin¡¯ move o¡¯ theirs to see what ye¡¯d do, I reckon, an¡¯ ye¡¯ve responded strongly. Now they know ye take them seriously as a foe, their next move will¡¯nae be so soft, or so easily handled. Still, ¡®tis canny an¡¯ bold o¡¯ ye, an¡¯ I approve.¡±


    ¡°It was still an attack on you, on this city and on us,¡± Rheannach said. ¡°There¡¯s a terrible¡­hatred, flowing out of the Circle. Like¡­like hearing a wasp hive under the floorboards. And the worst part is, it¡¯s not even their real hatred. It¡¯s artificial, it¡¯s only burning so bright because somebody¡¯s pumping the bellows.¡±


    ¡°Who?¡± Ellaenie asked.


    ¡°His name is Nils Civorage.¡±


    The lines on Gilber¡¯s brow deepened. ¡°I know that name. I think I¡¯ve met him. A merchant guildman, yes? From Urstlend. He had some short of big scheme to conduct a mining operation down on the Unbroken Earthmote a couple of years ago, and was looking for investors.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s the one, yes.¡±


    Gilber nodded, his brow furrows growing deeper still. ¡°I took an instant disliking to him, as I recall. He¡¯s one of those cold fellows who can put on charm and joy like a mask, but if you can look past the mask you¡¯ll see nothing there but ambition and greed.¡±


    ¡°So whence the anger?¡± Saoirse wondered. ¡°I¡¯ve known a few men like that, an ¡®tis no¡¯ in their character tae hate unless they feel they¡¯ve been insulted.¡±


    ¡°Unfortunately, his mind is a closed book even to Crowns and Heralds, now. Queen Talvi believes he dug up one of the Words of Creation.¡±


    Ellaenie blinked, trying to absorb that through the fatigue still fogging her mind. ¡°I thought¡­aren¡¯t those just a metaphor?¡±


    Saoirse sucked air through her teeth. ¡°Och, maiden mine. If only they were. King E?rrach was no joking when he called them the end of learnin¡¯. ¡®Tis a terrible power that man has, if true.¡±


    ¡°That would explain everything I¡¯ve seen of the Circle and the Church as a whole,¡± Gilber mused. ¡°The magic involved is subtle, strong, and enormous, far beyond the abilities of any practitioner of the Art, and anathema to the Craft. I¡¯ve been scratching my head about it since the day we first noticed the danger¡­¡±


    Rheannach nodded grimly. ¡°It¡¯s a power no human is meant to have. The Crowns themselves distilled the Words in the time before, and they treat them with the utmost respect.¡± She sipped at her cup of tea and set it aside. ¡°A human would be¡­overwhelmed. Broken by it. And if he was, as you suggest, already one of those brittle, flawed minds to begin with¡­¡±


    ¡°Then there¡¯s no telling what dark emotions may have been unleashed in him,¡± Ellaenie finished.


    ¡°No. If some secret place in his soul truly hates life and the Crowns for burdening him with it¡ªa sadly common affliction¡ªwell, now he has the power to infect others with it, and drive them into a frenzy. We¡¯re quite worried, love. And this puts you in terrible danger.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d be dead already if not for a stroke of good luck,¡± Ellaenie pointed out. ¡°I should be a Shade now, alongside my parents. But instead¡­here I am. Being in danger is nothing new. But at least this time I can see it coming and fight it.¡±


    Saoirse nodded approvingly. ¡°¡¯Tis one o¡¯ the qualities I admire most in ye, love. ¡®Ye¡¯re a bold one. Still: courage is¡¯nae experience. Ye have¡¯nae played this game before.¡±


    ¡°Have you? Tangled with a madman with deep and terrible power, I mean?¡±


    ¡°Mad? Aye. Powerful, indeed. But no¡¯ this deep an¡¯ terrible, ye have that right.¡±


    Troubled silence fell over the table, and lingered for nearly a minute before a yawn forced its way up out of Ellaenie¡¯s chest despite her best efforts to hold it back.


    ¡°Mmm¡­Sorry.¡±


    Rheannach kissed her cheek, rubbed her back, and moved to the window, which she opened. ¡°You need your rest. And¡­I want to spend time with my husband.¡±


    ¡°Should be a strong spring for us all, then,¡± Saoirse commented.


    ¡°Mm. Be glad you¡¯re on a different earthmote¡­¡± A look of sheer unapologetic intent pulled Rheannach¡¯s lips sideways into a smirk that sent a rush of heat to the tips of Ellaenie¡¯s ears. ¡°I¡¯ll see you in a few days, loves. And Saoirse? Don¡¯t forget your own people. The Oneists must be looking at the Craenen as well.¡±


    ¡°I know. But ¡®fer now, I think my place is still here. Crae Vhannog can manage wi¡¯out me a while longer, yet.¡±


    This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.


    Rheannach nodded, and then¡ªthere was a twist, a flash of swirling energies like light and dark mingled into one single eye-bending non-colour. A handsome crow perched on the window for a moment, bobbed its head at them, spread its wings, and she was gone.


    GIlber cleared his throat and rose to his feet. ¡°I will see your will done, your grace,¡± he said, in a return to formality. ¡°I hope you have a restful afternoon.¡±


    ¡°Thank you, Lord Drevin,¡± Ellaenie replied in kind, rising to her own feet with an effort. Sitting down, she¡¯d been able to ignore how tired she really was. As soon as she was on her feet, it sunk into her that her bones ached. She needed that bath, and her bed. But she still had Saoirse to¡ª


    ¡°Dinnae worry ¡®bout me, love,¡± Saoirse interjected, clearly feeling her thoughts and intentions. ¡°I¡¯ll ne¡¯er be bored in a palace wi¡¯ such a library, I can promise that.¡±


    Ellaenie thanked her mentor with a smile, and stumbled from the room right onto Lisze¡¯s waiting arm. Her lady-in-waiting smelled of lavender oil and bath salts¡­


    She stopped thinking for a while and allowed Lisze to fuss her into a bathtub, into her nightclothes, into bed¡­and despite the turmoil that should have filled her head, she was asleep before the quilt was even tucked around her shoulders, and didn¡¯t wake until the next day.


    <hr>


    <blockquote>


    ¡°The most important thing to remember about any Fey you may meet is that there was a time when they viewed killing humans as an amusing game. Some have repented of this past and are actively engaged in trying to atone, which your humble author can respect. Most simply live and act as though the past is irrelevant, which is less respectable. There is one tribe, however, who would resurrect that evil age if they could: their name is Ordsiwat, and to this day their favorite pastime is murder.¡±


    ¡ªDenrick Roth, Elves


    </blockquote>


    <h2>Stretched time</h2>


    Wandering Isle, somewhere in the cloud sea 09.06.03.06.09


    Jerl could feel his body creaking at the edges as he tried to hold on and keep the power from running away from him.


    Sidestep and turn, watch a thrown knife drift lazily past, its end-over-end tumble scarcely faster than the sweep of a clock¡¯s second hand. Raise his pistol, take aim, line up as carefully as target shooting, squeeze the trigger¡­on to the next one.


    It wasn¡¯t the power of the Word he was struggling with, but the limits of his own flesh. He could slow time to the point where his own bullets seemed no faster than a hard-thrown pebble, but the mass of his limbs, his body¡¯s momentum and the strength of his muscles? Those were unchanged.


    He could think fast enough to watch the smoke coil out of a brass cartridge as it spun out of Sin¡¯s carbine. But even his fastest twitchy movement felt like hauling on a bag-rope. His pistols¡¯ triggers were leaden, heavy, almost jammed. Even his eyes were oddly slow: each shift of attention came with a disconcerting but mercifully brief instant of blindness.


    Even so¡­from the elves¡¯ perspective, he must seem impossibly fast, unerringly accurate, and utterly unstoppable.


    Fuck it. He reached out, seized the tumbling knife firmly by its handle, heaved on it until he guessed it would fly back at its original owner with tremendous force and speed, then caught his gun again. It had dropped all of, oh, four inches. Oh good, the cylinder had finished clicking over. He hauled it around, took aim, and squeezed the trigger for what felt like ten seconds as the hammer lumbered back, thundered forward, and then the seconds-long hard shove of recoil.


    All his instincts were off, and he could feel the fatigue and pain already grinding his bones. He was going to be sore after this.


    Gun dry. Shove on the release catch with an aching thumb, free hand excavates six new rounds from the belt pouch. Hand moves fast enough he actually has to push the first tumbling brass out of the way with the nose of the new round. Gun jerks in his hand as he slaps it closed, got to use less force, don¡¯t want to bend the base pin¡­


    But where he was going to be sore, the Ordsiwat elves were going to be dead. And for all Sin¡¯s lamentations about how much she hated how much she loved killing¡­Jerl felt absolutely no conflicted conscience at all. These fuckers had come here to kill innocent people, and he got the privilege of embarrassing them. And frankly, that was about all you could do to an elf, anyway¡ªsend them off to their next chal and give them plenty to chew on when their reincarnated memories returned. It wasn¡¯t like killing a human.


    Sin was certainly enjoying it. Apparently telling him about her past had let her relax a bit and allow the Laughing Death to show some more, because that was definitely not just a violent rictus on her face. Her eyes were shining.


    And Mouse? Mouse was a shadow, even Jerl kept losing track of him. There¡¯d be a slightly odd shift in the pattern of dappled lights under the orchard trees, and suddenly like one of those drawings of a cube popping from in to out, there was Mouse. The elves didn¡¯t even glance at him, even when he was right in front of him: they leaned around him to keep their eyes on Jerl and Sinikka.


    Blood sprays as Mouse drives a dagger into a slim fey throat from the side then slashes it viciously out. Victim collapses, unconscious before even hitting the ground, the Ordsiwat next to him flinches as arterial spray gets in his eyes, but somehow still doesn¡¯t notice the lethal gangster within arm¡¯s reach¡­


    Oh, they were fighting back hard. But as Jerl had learned from Sin and from his own observations, the thing about elves was that they expected to win, instantly and overwhelmingly, by just being so much better than a human. After all, they had thousands of years of experience to draw on, and magically strengthened bodies. They expected humans to be afraid of them, and to be on the back foot.


    They didn¡¯t really seem to know how to handle their own tactics turned against them. Or at least, the Ordsiwat raiders didn¡¯t. They scattered, tried to flank Jerl and Sin and overwhelm them with numbers, but from Jerl¡¯s perspective they were just so slow that his worst difficulty was in judging how much to lead his target.


    Some people thought that because elves were so fast, that meant they could parry bullets out of the air. It wasn¡¯t true. Their bursts of speed were in straight lines, planned in advance then committed to: their actual reaction times were no faster than a human¡¯s. He could see it now: Sin wasn¡¯t any faster than them, she just planned an extra few steps ahead, like a master game player who already knew every way the board could develop. Every time she clashed with a charging fey, it was because she¡¯d seen them coming before they¡¯d even thought to act.


    Together¡­


    It was over in seconds. As Jerl relaxed his iron grip on time¡¯s flow he saw the airship, which had been drifting overhead like it was coming in to land, not skimming the treetops in an assault run, accelerate and shoot away out over the island. A glint of light at it stern was a figure watching through a telescope.


    Like a pike circling a wounded perch, the Ordsiwat ship swept around the island, completed a full circuit, then straightened its course and ran downwind into a cloud bank. The last Jerl saw of it was a flicker of purple, gold and dark wood among the mists, and the glint of that telescope, still telling him he was watched¡­and known.


    Then the pain arrived.


    He groaned, and crumpled to his knees. Ever limb, ever fiber of his body had been waiting patiently to register their complaint at the accelerated abuse he¡¯d put them through, and now that they had the chance, it was like a flood of angry petitioners all battering the doors down and flooding in. Sin was at his side in an instant. ¡°Jerl?¡±


    ¡°Fuuuck¡­!¡± Jerl flopped onto his side and then his back, unheeding and uncaring of the blood still soaking into the soil. He felt like he¡¯d been stretched on a rack, every muscle was as taut as a harp string. All he could do was screw his eyes shut, clench his teeth, force himself to breathe steadily and suffer as the cramps played out¡­


    He became dimly aware of the sound of running feet. Then there was warmth, an energy that radiated out from his heart and soaked into his flesh, banishing the cramps and the agony. As the pain subsided, he opened his eyes and gave Amir a grateful nod: his friend was kneeling beside him, gripping a magestone and concentrating on a healing spell while Derghan hovered behind him, scanning the skies with his hands tense around his rifle.


    He dropped his head back and sighed as the torment faded away, down to a mere lingering sting in his skin, then nothing. Amir exhaled, and returned the spent three magestones he¡¯d used to their pouch for later recharging.


    ¡°You okay?¡± Mouse was kneeling on the other side. Jerl saw Amir jump slightly and then remember Mouse and his powers.


    ¡°I think I overexerted myself a bit¡­¡± Jerl admitted. He sat up, and though his abdomen protested and felt surprisingly weak, he found himself quite mobile. He felt Mouse¡¯s concerned attention dance feather-light over the surface of his mind, and projected a private reassurance and an echo of the experience.


    Too much. He¡¯d strained so hard against everything he¡¯d made it all move at blinding, superhuman speeds but of course his body had endured all that force too. He was going to have to practice with Time, he could tell. This had been only a short fight, seconds long. Suffering the pangs of overexertion like that would have got him killed in a longer battle.


    Or, well¡­sent him back. An odd thought, that. And potentially quite bad, given he didn¡¯t know exactly when his last ¡°safe¡± moment was. Hopefully it was here, a few days ago, but there was a real fear that it might send him all the way back to the Queen¡¯s deck just before they docked at Long Drop and his encounter with Arthir Bellarn.


    He shook the thought off, accepted Derghan¡¯s hand as he hauled him to his feet, and teetered for a moment while looking around.


    ¡°¡­Shit.¡±


    Mouse nodded. ¡°Yup.¡±


    ¡°Did we do that?¡±


    Derghan nodded, looking a little wide-eyed and intimidated ¡°You shoulda heard it from the other side of the island. Sounded like there were ten of you.¡±


    There were bodies everywhere, a good thirty at least. That airship must be running on a skeleton crew now.


    ¡°Just how many people do the Ordsiwat have?¡± Jerl asked around.


    ¡°A couple of hundred wyrdsooth, maybe the same again in wansooth.¡± Sin said, idly. She stooped next to one of the marauders, and tilted her head curiously at the neat bullet hole between his eyes. ¡°Good shooting.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Sin, give me that in Garanese?¡±


    ¡°Sooth is the feydh word for¡­well, it means a lot of things. Truth, message, philosophy, cause, faith, tenets¡­¡± She tugged a vamdraech out of its fallen owner¡¯s chest sheath and shoved it straight into the body¡¯s heart: the corpse didn¡¯t twitch. ¡°Creed, nay?¡±


    ¡°Right¡­?¡±


    ¡°And wyrd means¡­strong, enduring, lasting, permanent or robust, while wan is the opposite.¡±


    ¡°I think I get it.¡±


    ¡°Right.¡± She stabbed another corpse, again without reaction. ¡°Most fey don¡¯t really have a lasting philosophy. Death cleanses away old allegiances, and each chal is its own, nay? It¡¯s rare for us to have convictions that transcend lifetimes. So, most of us are wansooth, just going along with whatever the tribe we¡¯re born into happens to believe. Wyrdsooth like me, true believers who cleave to a creed in life after life¡­we¡¯re not so common.¡±


    ¡°So which are this lot?¡± Mouse asked. He too was checking the bodies, though with a more pecuniary intent: he hefted a purse in his hand and pocketed it with an approving nod.


    ¡°Wyrdsooth. They don¡¯t let the wansooth stray far from home, they¡¯re essential to maintaining the tribe¡¯s population.¡±


    ¡°So you just wiped out a good chunk of the tribe¡¯s true believers for a generation,¡± Derghan realized.


    ¡°Yup.¡± Sin gave Jerl a serious look. ¡°They¡¯re not gonna be happy about that, nay?¡±


    ¡°They hardly gave us the option of a peaceful resolution,¡± Amir pointed out.


    ¡°No¡­¡± Sin agreed. ¡°The question is, was their being here an accident?¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t think they¡¯re in league with the Oneists, do you?¡± Derghan asked.


    She shook her head. ¡°No. Absolutely not. Ordsiwat don¡¯t stoop to interacting with humans except¡­well.¡± She gestured around.


    ¡°Civorage could change the rules, there,¡± Amir pointed out.


    ¡°Mouse?¡± Jerl asked, but the blond street rat was already shaking his head.


    ¡°There was no touch of the Word about them. Civorage doesn¡¯t have his claws in them, I¡¯m sure of that.¡±


    ¡°So their coming here could just be a coincidence?¡± Amir folded his arms. ¡°I don¡¯t truly believe in coincidence.¡±


    ¡°Nor should you. Don¡¯t underestimate Ekve and the tribe¡¯s core,¡± Sin warned them. ¡°Ordsiwat means ¡®Patient Throne.¡¯ They¡¯ve been plotting to restore the ancient empire since the day it fell, and there¡¯s something right here in Mouse¡¯s pocket that would let them achieve that goal, nay?¡±


    ¡°You think they know what happened in Long Drop and tracked us down somehow?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s plausible. Coincidences do happen, but¡­not when powers like yours are involved, I think.¡± She arched an eyebrow at Jerl, who had to agree.


    ¡°Great. Fuckin¡¯ great.¡± Derghan scratched his nose and sniffed dismissively. ¡°Seems we¡¯ve got a knack for makin¡¯ enemies these days, hey?¡±


    ¡°Not just enemies,¡± Mouse said, and up-nodded at something behind them. Jerl turned: Cerkos and a group of his brothers, sons and cousins were approaching, slowing and looking around in awe at all the elven corpses decorating their orchard.


    ¡°¡­It¡¯s over?¡± Cerkos asked, cautiously.


    ¡°For now. Reckon there¡¯s barely enough crew left on that ship to fly it home,¡± Jerl agreed. Muttering passed around the group as one of Cerkos¡¯ sons translated for them.


    ¡°Then you have saved my family.¡± Cerkos dropped his gun, embraced Jerl by the arms, and kissed him firmly on both cheeks. ¡°We know who that was. We hear many stories of Isles that are found drifting and dead, their families raped and tortured to death, nailed to their own walls, hanging from their own orchards and skinned alive. Elves are so cruel¡­¡±


    His eyes flicked guiltily to Sin, then he took a step back and bowed to her. ¡°¡­But perhaps not all. You fought for my family against your own kind, elf. I¡­apologize to you for not welcoming you as a guest.¡±


    Sin shook her head. ¡°You have nothing to apologize for," she promised him. ¡°And I¡¯m sorry to say, if the Ordsiwat really want their revenge, they¡¯ll find this isle again.¡±


    Cerkos¡¯ expression turned grim and troubled for a moment, before he rallied and wrenched the genial smile back onto his face. ¡°¡­Well! That is a problem for tomorrow, yes? Today, here and now, we are alive! Come! Let us bathe the blood from your bodies and fill your bellies in thanks! It is less than we owe you. And as for these¡ª¡± he kicked one of the fallen marauders. ¡°Let them do some good with these bodies at last and nourish the crops.¡±


    He gestured to the men around him, who slung their weapons away and commenced to cleaning up the orchard. Jerl exchanged a glance with his crewmates, nodded, and leaned heavily on Derghan to limp away. The magic had done much work, but he was going to need a proper hot bath and maybe a massage to chase away the ghost of all those spasms. His left leg in particular felt about as heavy and stiff as a log.


    Mouse helped him from the other side, and Crowns. The man could fight, but the body under those baggy, hard-wearing clothes was skinny and tough rather than strong. Still¡­Jerl felt a rush of warm affection at the contact. And¡­he smiled, and aimed a thought at Mouse. Playful and teasing, but candid. After all, there was nothing like a good fight to get a man feeling alive.


    Mouse glanced up at him and smirked, replying mostly in kind¡­but there was a tinge of hesitation in it. Something he wasn¡¯t quite ready for, yet.


    Jerl gave him a squeeze by way of reassurance, then grunted as a lance of pain shot up his leg and made him stumble.


    Right. Yes. Rest first, fun later.


    And after that¡­well, if they had a new enemy, he was going to have to figure out what to do about them, too. A bit vexing that their troubles seemed to be growing rather than shrinking, but hey: things were still much better than last time. Nobody he cared about was dead, for a start!


    And maybe it was all part of the plan. Maybe their troubles needed to grow before they could shrink. He wasn¡¯t naive enough to think this was all destined to be straightforward. Nice as that would have been, he knew the world didn¡¯t work that way. There was still much for him to figure out, before he could start setting things right.


    May as well think about it in the bath, though. He accepted the help, and hobbled back toward the inn.


    And wondered when they¡¯d see the Ordsiwat again.


    <hr>


    <blockquote>


    ¡°Why don¡¯t they lift a finger to save the worlds from its various evils? Now that is the sort of question which demands answering in questions. Why should they? Who are you to demand it of them? How do you know they do not? Is it possible that their intervention would be a greater evil? Oh, have you tried this blend? And have you noticed the way young Nomiye there is looking at you¡­?¡± ¡ªRivishchandra Banergupta, Conversations with the Shisha


    </blockquote>


    <h2>A pleasant evening</h2>


    E?rrach¡¯s lake cabin, a private earthmote 09.06.03.06.09


    The sound of crickets in the night, and the sight of moths fluttering confusedly against a lantern were, sometimes, all the evidence a Crown might need that making the worlds had been entirely the right thing to do. Even those tiny, mindless lives, barely more than a biological stimulus-response automaton, deserved to exist. And they were beautiful for existing.


    That was the secret to an indefinite life. Sit on the porch, smoke a pipe, and relax into the simple pleasure of presence.


    He blew a smoke ring¡ªperfect, of course¡ªand sent it on its way with a slight puff of his cheeks: it drifted away and out toward the lake. For a moment he entertained the idea of holding it together until it had completed a full lap of the shore but¡­no. He stopped focusing and allowed it to dissipate naturally.


    Small, delicate, cool hands lightly touched the back of his neck, slid down his shoulders and around and forward, down onto his chest where they felt him approvingly; their owner¡¯s lips touched his cheek, and a voice murmured warmly in his ear. ¡°Hey.¡±


    King E?rrach smiled. ¡°Hey, you.¡±


    There was a shift and a sense of movement, and Haust settled herself into place on the porch railing, leaving the coolness of her touch to linger for a second. She was like that, relentlessly ethereal even with him and the others. When she wasn¡¯t being human, she didn¡¯t deign to do something as mundane as walk when she could flow from place to place as though the intervening space was just a suggestion.


    Always a fun trick, that.


    E?rrach preferred his embodied existence. Mostly it was a matter of ancient preference, whether he presented as the man he¡¯d once been, or as something less¡­fullsome than his physical reality for the comfort of others: a more modest woodsman, or perhaps as a bear, or a great mythical beast¡ª


    Or as a dire stag, as was his favorite.


    However he lived, he was always rooted here. In the material, the physical. The necessary grounding of the real.


    This wasn¡¯t without some issue, for E?rrach was a man of size. Big feelings, big passions. He loved his fellow Crowns, passionately and gently, and he had a body to match his power. The strength of worlds was within him, in a very literal sense. So for the sake of everyone, he preferred the outdoors. Suited him better, anyway. Life was sacred, and there was no better place to commune with it then here.


    Communion was the order of the day. And with him, those were predictable affairs. Big, warm feelings for the people he loved most. Big, powerful passions too, as much as they could handle, and a playful bit more besides just to remind them who they were dealing with. Sometimes they shared some big fun grunty exercise on his hidden earthmote, with some of his favorite and most secretive heralds¡ªthe rest of the world wasn¡¯t ready to know about them, not yet.


    Today they were indulging in a big, glorious bit of relaxation. Wonderful time to smoke a pipe and get his think on. He had to be a bit more deliberate about it than the others, because his obstinate will to remain embodied had an effect on how he had to think about things the others didn¡¯t quite understand.


    Didn¡¯t stop him from teasing Haust. Teasing was his love language, really.


    ¡°Aren¡¯t you a little young to be out this late?¡±


    She smiled and smoothed the long, diaphanous layers of cloth she preferred to wear in this form comfortably under her. ¡°My parents are asleep.¡±


    ¡°Who are they this time?¡±


    ¡°Amdahene and Palatu. You¡¯d like them. Palatu calls me ¡®little foal¡¯ and sneaks me some extra cheese when he thinks Amdahene¡¯s not looking. She always notices, but it makes her smile.¡± A warm smile of her own lit her lips, the only part of her face E?rrach could see amid the shadows of her hood. It was a funny affectation on her part, he¡¯d seen her face often enough, but¡­


    Well, they were all creatures of habit.


    ¡°They sound wonderful.¡±


    ¡°They are. I¡¯m fairly sure the shaman suspects me, but that¡¯s alright.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re a canny bunch in that tribe. Always have been.¡±


    She noddded. ¡°My favorite type of people. And you worry for them.¡±


    ¡°For all of them.¡±


    She looked around. ¡°Don¡¯t tell me I¡¯m first to get here?¡±


    ¡°Oh, no. Sayf is out making like a shark just now. He promised me fish!¡±


    Water was one of the few things E?rrach found difficult to indulge in. Oh, he could dispense with much of his size, ditch his mountainous mass and become buoyant, all that. He was in no danger whatsoever of drowning, and danger hadn¡¯t worried him for innumerable billions of millennia¡­but it took effort of the mind to do such things. He wasn¡¯t merely physical by choice or preference, he was physical by nature, too. Formlessness wasn¡¯t natural to him, like it could be with the younger two.


    ¡°So we¡¯re just waiting on Winter.¡±


    ¡°Not much longer, I think.¡± E?rrach pinched his fingers together, stuck them in his mouth, and aimed a whistle toward the lake that shook the trees and, some seconds later, unleashed an avalanche in the mountains beyond.


    He gave a mischievous sideways look to Lady Haust. ¡°Haven¡¯t seen you this young in ages! Too bad, normally I¡¯d waggle my eyebrows at this point, and gesture to the bedroom¡­¡±


    She laughed, ¡°you¡¯ll need to wait and see! Besides, you have Rhee and the other two¡­¡±


    ¡°And I am blessed in them,¡± he said warmly, and honestly. ¡°Blessed in all of you.¡±


    She flowed seamlessly off the railing and kissed his cheek again. The words love you too, big man flickered through his awareness and then she was a wraith, flitting away down the beach toward the lake. Meanwhile, far out in the middle, a rather larger, darker and much more material form had just broken the surface and was sending a perfect ring of ripples out across the perfectly glass-smooth waters.


    Ah, Prince Sayf: a glorious balance between magnificent and hot mess, done with the deliberate intent of a master performance artist. And it looked like he¡¯d been successful in his noodling. The catfish latched onto his arm was a monster, its thrashing body churning the water into a foam.


    ¡°Dang! That¡¯s a heck of a catch! I¡¯ll need to whip up some hushpuppies to go with that.¡±


    Sayf waded up the beach and shook himself off. The long surfer¡¯s mane he¡¯d habitually worn for eons sprayed droplets everywhere as he hefted the catfish onto his shoulder and traded welcoming kisses with Haust. ¡°Haven¡¯t had those in a long while. Sounds good.¡±


    ¡°Still got your strength under all the padding, I see! Could do with less of the Shisha¡¯s sweets¡­¡±


    He couldn¡¯t help but tease. Sayf had made a point of embodying the concept of ''"work hard, play harder.'' He was handsome but overindulged it with perfumes and luxury; he was a strong, powerful warrior of old, but had let himself pack it on, nearly but not quite to the point of obesity. There was a sharp-edged man under it all, but that edge was almost blunted away.


    Almost. His was a life of promoting all that was beautiful and comely, and also a warning against going too far. Like all of them, he taught the people by his example.


    There was a lot going on under all the fat and jolly. And he was never without good banter!


    ¡°Good sport is just as much an indulgence as good baklava, old man! Both are even better when thoroughly baked!¡±


    ¡°Ha!¡± E?rrach knew better than to indulge in the Shisha¡¯s mind-expanding confectionary. Nobody wanted a being like King E?rrach impaired.


    ¡°Besides, you could stand to take a little edge off of that hulking anatomy chart of a body you¡¯re wearing! Who are you trying to impress?¡±


    ¡°Everyone,¡± E?rrach retorted smugly, bouncing his chest. ¡°You love it.¡±


    Prince Sayf gave him a look that said, plainly, that he loved it very much indeed. Hmm! Well, why not, later on? It¡¯d been ages since he¡¯d last indulged his favorite prince! Grinning, he showed off his physique a little more, appreciating the results from countless years of hard work. It was his original body, genetics and physics upgrades (and Ship of Theseus issues) aside, so he¡¯d always kept it around and intact, even when his awareness was occupying another form. He didn¡¯t know why he felt so strongly about that, but all the grueling work he¡¯d invested in himself over literal ?ons seemed important to preserve, somehow. And he wasn¡¯t done building himself up, either¡­


    Haust, meanwhile, rolled her eyes at all the boy energy, (which earned her some grunty posing and affection, too) and settled herself comfortably alongside the beach fire pit, which she lit with a gesture. ¡°Speaking of heralds, are Rhee and the puppies joining us?¡±


    ¡°Not tonight.¡± E?rrach stopped teasing them both, joined her and thumped down into the sand with a bump that rattled the bear traps hanging on his cabin¡¯s wall. ¡°You know the pups, they¡¯re not interested in being involved in the heavy thinking. And Beloved is away on business.¡±


    ¡°Pity. I haven¡¯t seen her since..oh, eight years ago?"


    ¡°Well, visit us more!¡±


    A cold swirl of air licked across his skin at the precise same moment as a fourth and final voice joined their conversation. ¡°We always promise to visit each other more, don¡¯t we? But there are always distractions¡­My, that¡¯s quite a fish!¡±


    ¡°Ain¡¯t he?¡± Sayf agreed with a swagger. ¡°I was just about to clean him up.¡±


    ¡°Then let¡¯s.¡± Talvi graced the three of them with a freezing peck on the cheek apiece, and set her walking stick down by the fire. It was purely an affectation anyway, so E?rrach favored her with a big, tight hug.


    ¡°Missed you.¡±


    Queen Talvi, like E?rrach, was more attached to her original form than the younger two. She mostly presented as older and matronly, in a severe, quietly affectionate way. The disciplined grandmother, perhaps. When she was feeling joyous, though¡­


    She had been a stunning woman in her original life. And she still was.


    But with her, there was a proper time and place for everything, and right now was not the time for what he really wanted to do; he was the Crown of Spring, after all. Nonetheless, E?rrach always respected people¡¯s boundaries, because if he didn¡¯t, how could he expect anyone else to do so? The powerful must always take care; what might feel playful to him could easily seem frightening to anyone else.


    He had loved her for something effectively approaching eternity, from a time when he was already mighty and she merely human. In all that time, he had never taken advantage.


    Not that she needed protection these days, but what could he say? He was set in his ways.


    She glanced up at him warmly, much conversation embedded in a single look. ¡°And you too. All of you! We four haven¡¯t cooked and dined together in far too long.¡±


    Consensus. In seconds, the four of them fell into a domestic dance honed over epochs. Since it was catfish tonight, E?rrach got the pot and oil ready, Sayf set into cleaning his catch, Talvi prepared the seasoning and Haust flitted around to set the table.


    Eating was, strictly speaking, a ritual rather than a requirement for them all, given that the energies they each embodied far transcended things like carbs and protein. But they had bodies still, and all that went with it. Eating just felt better. There was also a spiritual side to sharing a simple meal with one¡¯s closest and dearest, and the chance to relish being a creature of the world, even though all four of them largely eclipsed it.


    The fact they could still have these moments was something to be tremendously thankful for. They came around too rarely.


    So, for an hour, perhaps an hour and a half, they were just four friends having dinner together and nothing more. But it had to end, eventually: they had business to discuss.


    Meetings of the Crowns were rare indeed. At least, rare on the timescales of human and elf. For beings as vast and ancient as the Crowns of Creation, a gap of centuries might feel as short and familiar as a day or two between fond greetings. Conversations were often much the same, picked up wherever they left off, pretty much the moment they were all sitting around the fire outside.


    ¡°So. The Ordsiwat have decided to join the drama too.¡±


    Talvi nodded as she stretched her bare feet toward the fire to warm them. ¡°I told you there would be further risk. Did I not warn? We won¡¯t be able to light-touch our way out of our predicament. Not this time.¡±


    Haust pulled an extra shawl out of thin air to add to the many layers already wrapping her against the chilly night air. ¡°Our ¡®predicament¡¯ is the same as it¡¯s ever been. We¡¯re attempting something new and difficult, and we¡¯re doing so with a clean slate version of humanity.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know if I would go as far as ¡®clean slate.¡¯ They¡¯re still genetically the same people who evolved on our home planet so long ago. The culture may be new¡­¡±


    ¡°Culture is everything, with humans.¡±


    ¡°Culture is their expression of reality and their relationship to it. It isn¡¯t their reality itself. So many of the same patterns and mistakes¡­¡±


    E?rrach sat naked to the air, as was his custom, and thumbed some leaf into his pipe from a handy pouch. ¡°Yes. Necessary mistakes. You don¡¯t grow up if you don¡¯t fuck up.¡±


    ¡°In any case, what they¡ªwe¡ªface is novel and dangerous. They cannot be expected to stand against the unrestrained power of godhead run amok among them. We rightly treat the Words with severe respect, and are we not all but gods ourselves?¡±


    E?rrach sighed. ¡°You know I hate claiming that word.¡±


    ¡°So do we all, but sometimes we need to be honest about it. There¡¯s a reason we¡¯ve all wrapped ourselves in the trappings of deity. We are what they need us to be.¡±


    ¡°Exactly. Our touch needs to be as light as it can be,¡± Talvi replied, then looked up at Sayf. ¡°Chuckles? You¡¯re being unusually quiet, it¡¯s making me nervous.¡±


    Sayf¡¯s handsome face wasn¡¯t built for frowning. It was built for quick smiles, smouldering intensity and artistic rapture. His present thoughtful scowl looked quite out of place. He was resting his chin on his thumbs with his hands tucked up under his nose, and he drummed his fingers thoughtfully a couple of times before speaking.


    He might well have been the smartest of the four, in his way. Nobody with any wisdom ever failed to listen to him, when he deemed it important enough to get serious.


    ¡°¡­We could have just wiped Civorage¡¯s memory, put Mind back in a new vault, and this whole incident would have been over before it had really begun and nobody would have ever noticed. We didn¡¯t. I don¡¯t see why a ship full of elfish marauders changes our rationale.¡±


    E?rrach shrugged uncomfortably and sighed. ¡°Perhaps we should have done precisely that. Perhaps I should have.¡±


    ¡°As I recall, you were the leading voice in advocating against it.¡±


    ¡°Yes, and I can¡¯t say for sure if that was out of selfishness. You¡­please don¡¯t take this the wrong way, but none of you are on the verge in quite the same way I am. Wielding Mind requires surgical precision, you know this. But wielding it at that level of use might just be the end of it for me.¡±


    ¡°Nobody wants that, sure enough.¡±


    ¡°I least of all. I am¡­I know what lies across that threshold. I¡¯m not ready, and I¡¯m not worthy. And I have a duty to this creation of ours, to see it through. We all do.¡±


    ¡°Agreed,¡± Haust poked the fire. ¡°Which is why caution is warranted. Right now¡­they¡¯re good folk, who oppose Civorage. Surely that must count for something!¡±


    Talvi nodded fervently. ¡°Jerl is such a wonderful person, darlings. And the Word wants him.¡±


    ¡°Which is precisely why I have doubts. Direct intervention¡­I still worry. You cannot wield the power of gods without risking godhood itself.¡±


    ¡°So maybe he¡¯s our first to rise from this epoch,¡± Sayf suggested.


    Now that was an unwelcome thought. E?rrach shifted uncomfortably. ¡°So soon?¡±


    ¡°Why not? Can we really claim we were ready? Especially given what you just said?¡±


    ¡°But if you¡¯re right then we¡¯d be¡­what? Twenty, maybe fifty thousand years ahead of schedule.¡±


    ¡°The schedule was always our best guess. We¡¯ve all been around long enough to know that reality never conforms to expectations.¡±


    Haust snickered at that, and nodded with a wry expression. ¡°It¡¯s true. And the Words aren¡¯t just tools. If they think the time is right to emerge and there are minds worthy of them¡ªand it seems evident that they do, considering Civorage would never have got the vault open without the Word¡¯s assistance¡ªthen they¡¯re going to emerge. Time persuaded us to release it, after all.¡±


    E?rrach nodded, agreeing with her point, and finished his own. ¡°But more, I think our young heroes need breathing room. And guidance. They both do.¡±


    ¡°They all will,¡± Talvi said. ¡°Let¡¯s not pretend it¡¯s going to stop at just two.¡±


    ¡°Guidance was always part of the plan,¡± Sayf added.


    ¡°Yes,¡± E?rrach acknowledged. ¡°But we can all say from experience that a Word is a terrible thing to inflict on the unprepared. They need time, and not in the sense of Time, either. They need¡­some rest, and a moment to adjust to their new situation. I think we can give it to them, and maybe clean up an old mess we should have attended to millennia ago.¡±


    Sayf sat back and made a grumbling noise. ¡°Not this again.¡±


    ¡°The elves were your idea, Sayf. A good one, too!¡± he added, quickly. ¡°But their nature means they need guidance even more than our humans do. If this is indeed the start of a new human era, and new Ascended are coming¡­¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re suggesting an attitude adjustment.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s that or genocide. Here,¡± he offered. ¡°See as I have seen. Gaze into deep time. See where all the paths lead.¡±


    Of the Crowns, none could wield the Words so effortlessly as E?rrach, but therein lay the danger. Every indulgence of their power could leave a little more of it in the user, which dragged that person further from the real, and closer to¡­well, the Source of it all. To godhood entire, not merely a relatively safe approximation of it, as the Crowns held.


    E?rrach was on the very border of crossing over and had been for an immeasurably long time. He knew well the dangers. The others? They had margin, yet. Lots of it. So instead of carefully meditating on it, wielding without further imbibing, they could dive straight in without much fear.


    All had Time within them. And with just a little prompting¡­


    They saw it. All of them. There was a bloodbath coming. It would start with a genocide, but it wouldn¡¯t end there, oh no.


    Talvi was the first to blink and look away from it. ¡°Oh¡­my.¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°Things really are evolving so fast now, aren¡¯t they? So much faster than we thought they would.¡±


    ¡°Maybe that was inevitable.¡±


    ¡°Maybe.¡±


    There was a long silence. The fire crackled, the invisible crickets continued to sing. The four most powerful living things in all the universe sat in each other¡¯s company and thought.


    "So what are we going to do?¡± E?rrach asked. ¡°Are we going to do anything? Or is this still something they need to sort out themselves?¡±


    Silence again. And that, in itself, was a consensus: for the first time in a long, long while, the Crowns didn¡¯t know what to do next.


    ¡°¡­I say¡­a small nudge is in order,¡± Talvi decided after a minute. ¡°Not much. Just enough. To give them time to rest and recover before the next challenge.¡±


    E?rrach nodded. ¡°Maybe we can do both at once. Give them a nudge, and also address our elvish problem, when the moment is right.¡±


    Haust picked up on it. ¡°Subtlety through extreme unsubtlety? How very like you!¡±


    ¡°Shut up!¡± E?rrach laughed, but sobered up quickly. ¡°But¡­yes. We face two problems. We can¡¯t do this for them, nor can we remain indulgently in the background any longer. They¡¯re growing up, now. Far faster than we were ready for.¡±


    ¡°¡¯Tis always the way with children.¡±


    Their heads all bobbed. They had all been parents uncountably many times over, down the long years.


    ¡°¡­So. What nudge?¡±


    ¡°The old reliable,¡± Talvi said. ¡°A crossing of paths, with the right person at the right time. And I think I know who they need most¡­¡±


    She explained. They listened. And, one by one, their smiles returned.


    They reached consensus.


    <hr>


    <blockquote>


    ¡°Lest you mistake my previous chapters for fearmongering, let it be clear that the elves are militarily extinct, having lost their ability to engage in serious warfare sometime before the decline and fall of the Ordfey, with no hope of ever recovering. Their population numbers a mere million across all the worlds, meaning if they were all to migrate to Garanhir, they would be a minority in even the least of that earthmote¡¯s great cities. The elves are scattered, divided, and stateless. They have not the unity, numbers, materiel, industry, agriculture or logistics to wage war in any meaningful capacity. Those who involve themselves in war at all do so as mercenaries, or as marauders. In either case, their approach is necessarily the same: They are warriors and raiders, who compensate for their lack of mass through prodigious skill and natural cruelty. In other words, dear reader, never expect an elf to fight honourably. They fight only to destroy your morale. But is that not, ultimately, the acme of warfare?¡± ¡ªDenrick Roth, Elves.


    </blockquote>


    <h2>A welcome bathtub</h2>


    Wandering isle, the cloud sea. 09.06.03.06.09


    Jerl had to hand it to Cerkos¡¯ people: they knew how to draw a perfect bath. The water was just a degree or two shy of painful, so he¡¯d had to lower himself in gingerly and with held breath, but the oils and salts added to it filled the air and seemed to soak through his skin along with the heat, and soak all the lingering tension out of his abused muscles.


    Crowns. What a day. And what a lot to reflect on, about what Time allowed him to do¡­and not do. He certainly was going to need a lot of practice if he was going to use it in future without injuring himself.


    Speaking of which¡­


    He reached out, picked up a sweetmeat from the platter beside the tub, and indulged in it. That was the problem with magical healing, it left the body hungry. Still, better hunger than agony.


    He sighed as he chewed, settled back, and basked.


    Some minutes later, he went reaching for the platter again, and this time a sweetmeat was offered to him, right under his nose. He jumped and nearly sat up straight in the tub out of alarm and surprise before realizing¡ªright. Yes. Mouse. Sitting on the tub¡¯s edge with a look of puckish amusement on his face.


    ¡°Crowns!¡± Jerl complained. ¡°You scared the shit outta me!¡±


    ¡°Forgot I exist, huh?¡±


    Jerl settled back. ¡°Sorry¡­but, wait, you didn¡¯t come in here with me?¡±


    ¡°Nope. I snuck in just now. You¡¯re still¡­mostly immune to me. Unless I¡¯m really trying.¡±


    ¡°Heh!¡± Jerl chuckled and relaxed fully again. ¡°Never had a peeping tom sneak up on me in the bath before.¡±


    ¡°Their loss.¡± Mouse ran a shameless eye down Jerl¡¯s body, at least as far as the bubbles and waterline would let him.


    ¡°So, you gonna join me?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d like to.¡±


    Jerl tilted his head. ¡°But?¡±


    ¡°But¡­there¡¯s something we need to clear the air on, first. A, uh¡­a secret I want to let you in on.¡±


    Before Jerl could ask what that might be, Mouse stood up, loosened the laces of his shirt, and peeled it off. Underneath he wore a wide cloth wrapped tightly around his chest. And under that, once it was unwound and red-facedly thrown aside¡­


    ¡°¡­Huh.¡±


    Mouse shrugged at him, blushing crimson from scalp to sternum. ¡°You really didn¡¯t guess at all?¡±


    Jerl looked up. Mouse looked terrified, he realized. As though the mere sight of tiny, barely-there but undeniably feminine breasts was all it would take to bring their relationship to a crashing halt.


    ¡°Not a clue,¡± he admitted.


    ¡°Does it¡­¡± Mouse took a deep, nervous breath, then changed course. ¡°I¡­feel like I owe you an explanation.¡±


    ¡°Sure,¡± Jerl nodded. ¡°Though I mean, I think I can guess¡­?¡±


    ¡°So guess.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m thinking¡­a little Garanese girl and her dad leave the old country ¡®cuz his dealings with the wrong kind of business partner are starting to catch up with him and he needs to get out while he¡¯s still in one piece. And because he¡¯s a shady sort who hangs out with some nasty people, he knows just how dangerous traveling the worlds can be for a lass, knows it¡¯s just a touch safer for a lad, so¡­a haircut, a change of clothes, and nobody¡¯s any the wiser. Something like that?¡±


    Mouse nodded, and sat on the tub¡¯s edge. ¡°Something like that.¡±


    ¡°And then it stuck. Going back felt impossible. Safer and easier to just live as a man. Until eventually it just became who you are, and now¡ª¡±


    ¡°Something like that.¡± Mouse repeated. ¡°I¡¯m sorry if you feel like I¡¯ve been lying to you but¡ª¡±


    ¡°A little,¡± Jerl confessed. ¡°But¡­I suppose everyone has secrets.¡±


    Mouse nodded glumly, then looked him in the eye. ¡°You don¡¯t. It¡¯s¡­astonishing. Everyone else is full of them, but you? You¡¯re like this clean blade that just cuts right through it all. There¡¯s nothing in your head that¡¯s not out there on your face.¡±


    ¡°Well¡­yeah,¡± Jerl agreed. ¡°And this is why. Because secrets always come out eventually, and then they¡¯re awkward. I like simplicity. And you being a woman rather than the man I thought you were¡­complicates matters.¡±


    Mouse sighed, looked down, and nodded. ¡°Yeah. I¡­yeah. I¡¯m sorry, you prefer men, I shouldn¡¯t have let this go so far¡ª¡±


    Jerl reached out and caught her wrist before she could stand and leave. ¡°That¡¯s not¡­quite right,¡± he said.


    ¡°No? You told Ju-Wi your bag¡¯s rigged the other way¡­¡±


    ¡°Men, in my experience, are less complicated,¡± Jerl said.


    ¡°¡­Shit, Jerl.¡± Mouse paused, then took his hand and held it. ¡°That¡¯s¡­who hurt you?¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t know?¡±


    ¡°There are knots of pain in your mind, right at the bottom of it. Everyone has them, and I don¡¯t look too closely because¡­well, it feels like a violation. But it seems like everyone¡¯s mind is shaped by pain, somewhere.¡±


    ¡°Well, a big part of that is prob¡¯ly my dad, but¡­¡± Jerl shook his head. ¡°Her name was Elise. She chartered the Queen, when I was just a big strapping fourteen-year-old still learning the airship trade. She was¡­older. Twenty, thereabouts. I think she was a courier or something, she was escorting a big load of crates up to the Observatory. And then she spent most of the voyage lounging around the ship working on her tan. She was fascinating, you know? Beautiful, witty, confident, sultry¡­¡±


    Mouse nodded, softly. ¡°I can see her face in your mind.¡±


    ¡°Yeah. She stuck with me all these years.¡±


    ¡°She was your first time.¡±


    ¡°And the first to break my heart, a few days later.¡± Jerl shook his head. ¡°I was much too young. To this day I dunno if it was a moment of weakness she regretted, or if she got off on the dynamic of seducing and breaking in a boy and then abandoning him once she¡¯d had her fun. Depends if I¡¯m feeling charitable or not, I guess. After that¡­I dunno. Women just seemed to tie me up in knots. Men were easier.¡±


    ¡°And now I¡¯m adding to it.¡± Mouse sighed and tried to stand and leave again. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, I¡ª¡±


    Jerl shook his head and held on. ¡°Mouse¡­for the right person¡­for you¡­maybe I¡¯d be willing to try a little complication.¡±


    Mouse blinked, then sat again and leaned closer to him. ¡°I¡­don¡¯t want us to be complicated at all.¡±


    Jerl smiled, then surged upward. He felt a surge of delight at the ridiculously cute squeak Mouse made when their lips met, or the waves of unguarded gratitude and relief flooding out of his-slash-her mind.


    Jerl didn¡¯t go so far as to pull Mouse fully into the tub with him, but he didn¡¯t try and hide his intent or desire. Mouse chuckled playfully, and moments later, after a few hasty contortions and unfastenings, Jerl was treated to the feeling of lithe, wiry, and entirely naked skin pressed against his own, all the way down.


    They basked in each others¡¯ arms and kissed for a good long while, celebrating the simplicity of mutual attraction. Then, once they had kissed to satiation, Mouse rested an ear on Jerl¡¯s chest and breathed deep, enjoying the sound of his breath and the beat of his heart. It was a curious feeling for Jerl: Mind drew him in and let him feel exactly what Mouse felt. For a moment, he got to know just how comforting it was to be safe in his own arms and Mouse, he could feel, got to enjoy the experience from his perspective, too. The delight of having someone small and vulnerable to hold close and be solid for, and the flame of affection it stoked in his heart. For some minutes, it was almost difficult to tell where each of them ended and the other began. The feeling of their minds melting intimiately together at the edges was strange, but the very opposite of unpleasant.


    They did, however, eventually have to start using their words again.


    ¡°So¡­who else knows? Just me and your dad?¡± There was a scar on the side of Mouse¡¯s neck: a memory that wasn¡¯t his own told Jerl it was a relic from a knife fight years ago that had all too nearly gone the wrong way. He traced his thumb along it, wondering how different life would be now if that blade had sunk just an inch deeper¡­


    ¡°And Imdura.¡± Mouse was exploring Jerl¡¯s scars too, tracing the spot where a smashed bottle in a barfight had left five bald streaks through his chest hair. ¡°Sinikka too. She figured me out right away. But she¡¯s the opposite of you, she¡¯s nothing but secrets; she¡¯s not going to out me. Other than them, nobody. I¡¯d, uh¡­I know you don¡¯t like to keep secrets, but I¡¯d prefer to keep it that way, please.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s only my own secrets I don¡¯t keep,¡± Jerl said. ¡°Other peoples¡¯, that¡¯s their business. So if that¡¯s what you want, my lips are sealed.¡±


    Mouse laughed. ¡°Oh, Jerl. I¡¯m disappointed. You didn¡¯t try to extort me or anything!¡±


    Jerl scoffed. ¡°Heh! Guess I¡¯d make a piss-poor Street Rat, huh? But okay, I¡¯ll bite. What¡¯s my silence worth to you?¡±


    ¡°Hmm. How about¡­this?¡±


    Jerl opened his mouth to ask what this might be, then gasped as clever, strong, nimble fingers wrapped around a part of him that had very much wanted to be touched for several minutes now. ¡°Ah! Oh! Uh¡­yeah. If you¡¯re looking to buy my silence, that might be the, uh, the wrong way¡­¡±


    ¡°Oh?¡± A circling fingernail made Jerl inhale sharply. ¡°Talkative, are you?¡±


    ¡°Your secret,¡± Jerl promised fervently, ¡°is safe with me. Payment accepted.¡±


    Mouse grinned. ¡°Good¡­¡±


    Jerl rested his head back, shut his eyes, and Mouse put those skilled pickpocket¡¯s hands to work on him.


    And by the time the water grew cold, they were both feeling very relaxed indeed.


    <hr>


    <blockquote>


    ¡°Suffering is inevitable, and all relief from it is temporary. That is why relief is so precious and necessary, of course, but also why our own interventions are so careful and rare. Should we police every street gag? Prevent every murder? What about every heart attack, or every sickly child who dies before attaining the age of five? Should we intervene whenever an airship¡¯s rigging snaps? Should we make it our mission to erase all misery from the human experience? Because let me assure you¡­if we went down that road, we would do you all a harm far worse than any the elves could invent. And so, we were forced to stand by and watch the Ordfey¡¯s cruel excess¡­but we never endorsed it.¡±


    ¡ªAttributed to  Lord Sayf, Mithras at-Sayat, The Collected Quotes of the Crowns


    </blockquote>


    <h2>Ekve¡¯s Palace</h2>


    Vathordweth, The last bastion of the Ordfey 09.06.03.06.11


    Ekve woke, as had been his habit across the thousands of years and dozens of chal, to the feeling of silk sheets, the breeze through the open window, and of warm bare flesh against his own. And, in this case, to the feeling of two sets of lips leaving cool spots on his skin as they explored across his chest and down, down, down¡­


    There could surely not be a better way to greet the new day. He licked his lips as the two figures so dilligently serving him completed their journey and found something to share, and opened his eyes.


    On mornings like this, he could almost pretend he still ruled from the towering spires of Vathcanarthen. The breeze playing through the curtains and across his bed was warm today, much akin to a cool morning on Prathardesh. It carried the scent of honey, meat and baking from the kitchens as the last palace of the Ordfey woke up and prepared breakfast.


    He also smelled blood, and smiled up at the ruined figure of a human hung on the wall opposite. He really had to commend Valis and Orod, and not just for their skill at suckling his balls. Even after all this time, the pair were still so wonderfully creative at making art from shattersouls¡­


    And, on occasion, when he was feeling especially decadent, from each other. Perhaps he would have them kill themselves while he made love to them tonight. They were starting to look a little¡­stale. Not yet lined by years, but their faces and forms were now completely familiar, too long-established. It was time to refresh them, though It was tedious to have to wait the fifteen years for them to return from limbo. But that too was just an opportunity to enjoy some other playthings.


    On the other hand, they did know and love him so well¡­decisions, decisions. He tucked an arm behind his head, carressed Orod¡¯s cheek, and allowed them to bring him to climax at their leisure.


    Their ministrations were interrupted by the welcome sound of a watch-horn. One long, clear note that was allowed to fade¡ªthe airship was back. And about time, too: Ordsiwat Set was running low on slaves.


    Less welcome, some minutes later as he was on the edge and being held their by their delicious cruel restraint, was the sound of the horn blowing again in an unusual rhythm, four short notes and one long, pa-pa-pa-pa-paaaa¡­.What did that mean again?


    Valis did something unspeakable with her tongue, and Ekve entirely forgot about the damn horn.


    For a few minutes, at least. He was in the middle of holding Valis down by the throat and rewarding her for her creativity when the sound of running feet filtered through his lustful haze and drove the idea home that perhaps that horn blast had been important after all. Annoyed, he tossed her aside and left her wild-haired, flushed and unsatisfied in his bedsheets as he rose, marched to the door, and flung it aside without bothering to cover himself or wait for his arousal to subside. Why should he? He had taken all the Ordsiwat at one time or another, as was his due as their sovereign.


    ¡°The airship is back with news, I take it. Speak.¡±


    His aide Motha bowed deep, in a hurried way. ¡°Most of the crew are killed, Endless King.¡±


    Ekve blinked. Then he reached out, and threw on the robe hung by the door. ¡°The oracle was quite explicit that this wandering isle would be the catalyst of our redemption. Their vision has never been false. Explain.¡±


    ¡°It is¡­unclear what happened, Endless King. But they think¡­¡± Motha cleared her throat. ¡°There was an Ithfey. Captain Lithara believes it was Bekhil.¡±


    Irritation and disbelief gave way to sudden anticipation and dawning delight. ¡°Could it be, after all this time? Is Lithara certain?¡±


    ¡°She is confident. There was another, too. One who used the weapons of a shattersoul but moved like a true Fey. Lithara could not identify them.¡±


    ¡°Two traitors, in one place?¡± Ekve swept from the room, his sexual conquest entirely forgotten in favor of a much rarer pleasure. ¡°Oh, I¡¯d always dreamed of what I will do to Bekhil when I finally get the chance, but the chance to give a prelude¡­¡±


    ¡°Sire, just these two killed half the raiders,¡± Motha pointed out, cautiously.


    ¡°Bekhil was always the best of us.¡± Ekve said it dismissively, then paused as he considered what Motha had just said in more detail. ¡°¡­I believe Avinil was keen to lead the raiders, wasn¡¯t he?¡±


    ¡°Yes, Sire. He¡¯s dead, sire.¡±


    ¡°And Bosa, Amren, Asha, Verin? All dead too?¡±


    ¡°Yes, sire. Everyone who set foot on the mote in question. And they died quickly, sire. Lithara says the last of them was dead before the first had even properly fallen over.¡±


    Ekve had spent thousands of years cultivating a properly royal confidence, but he also had the wisdom of lifetimes to know when the news he had just heard was cause to set it aside. And as truly wondrous as Bekhil was, the most magnificent and talented killer Ekve had known in any form and a lover to match¡­he couldn¡¯t quite believe that even they could have killed five of the Ordsiwat Set¡¯s best so quickly, help or no help.


    ¡°I wil speak with Lithara.¡±


    Motha nodded and hurried away. Ekve frowned thoughtfully for a minute, then turned back into his chambers and shut the door.


    ¡°Bathe me and clothe me,¡± he ordered.


    So it was that, not long thereafter, the king of the elves was in the garden courtyard, smelling cleanly of fragrant soaps rather than the musk of sex. He restrained the impulse to run his fingers through his newly oiled beard, and instead considered the space around him as he waited for Lithara to arrive.


    The garden was a monument to what the Fey had lost, and what Ordsiwat Set was pledged to one day restore. The frescoes around the walls told the full story, from the Day of Creation, through the Fey slowly awakening to the mortality of humans, to the First Conquest and the building of the five cities, the age of plenty and leisure¡­


    That was one side of the courtyard. The other was the downfall. The slow decline in diligence and attentiveness, the growth of a hidden human kingdom in exile, and finally the year when slaves had sold their meaningless lives by the thousand to overthrow their rightful masters.


    The last two panels were scenes of treachery: In the penultimate scene, the Crowns and Heralds tore down what their chosen people had built, and the final panel showed only two figures: Bekhil, chained and bowed before Queen Talvi. The final act of the Crowns¡¯ caprice.


    The Ordsiwat could not and did not ignore that their gods had sided against them in that terrible age. But Ekve had long held the belief that their reasons for doing so were ineffable and complex. After all, their vision pierced through time far further than anyone, be they mortal or eternal. And in the long years since that war, the Crowns had not returned to finish the job, nor do to Ekve what they did to Bekhil.


    For six thousand years, the Ordsiwat Set had continued the ways of the Ordfey and worked toward its return. Ample opportunity for the Crowns to object¡­and they had not. Not once.


    Ekve had spent much time sitting in this courtyard, surrounded by the flowers and hanging vines, and meditating on the conundrum posed by those last two panels. What exactly did the Crowns expect of the Fey?


    Footsteps dislodged him from his thoughts, and he turned to welcome Lithara. In this chal she was a taranfey, her hair as black as a thundercloud and her skin the dusky hue of blued steel, from which gazed eyes as bright and startling as a lightning bolt even as she closed them to bow.


    Beautiful. He would have her tonight, if this conversation was not displeasing. He had no reason to believe it would be, though: she looked untroubled, confident this debacle was not her fault. She, like him, wore the thoughtful expression of one confronted with an interesting new problem. Good. If she¡¯d come in here looking even the faintest bit guilty or nervous, Ekve would have needed to dig for the truth¡­which would be fun too, in its way.


    ¡°Sit with me.¡±


    ¡°Thank you, my liege.¡±


    Ekve sat first, of course, and sipped from his wine cup as she settled opposite him. ¡°So, you believe you have found Bekhil.¡±


    Lithara nodded. ¡°We know they are a female ithfey in this chal, and persist in the ridiculous doctrine of abasing themself to kine,¡± she said. ¡°The latest rumor is that they serve on a merchant airship from Garanhir. What I saw was, indeed, a female ithfey wearing human clothes, fighting to protect the shattersouls from us.¡±


    ¡°Uncommonly skilled, this ithfey?¡±


    ¡°Yes, Sire.¡±


    ¡°Did she laugh as she killed?¡±


    ¡°No, sire. Deathly silent.¡±


    ¡°Hmm.¡± Ekve drank more wine. ¡°And there was another, you say.¡±


    Lithara hesitated. ¡°Yes¡­¡±


    ¡°But?¡±


    ¡°But¡­¡± Lithara was clearly struggling to gather the words. ¡°I¡­there may have been three. I would swear, some of our people fell from knife wounds though neither of the two I saw used a knife. And the second one¡­¡±


    ¡°The one who used kine weapons?¡±


    ¡°I would swear he was kine, Sire. He was¡­big. Brutish like a working slave. And he fought like kine too, but he had the speed of our people.¡±


    Puzzle upon puzzle. Ekve drank and considered all this, then poured another cup, offered it to her, and settled back in his chair. "Start from the beginning. I set you to hunt a kine airship, the Cavalier Queen. Tell me all that happened..."


    Lithara nodded, sipped her wine, and recounted the brief history: how the target ship had docked at Long Drop, remained there a few days, then departed in haste, unprepared and undersupplied. They had sought refuge on a wandering isle, and that was where Lithara had bided her time until the moment was ripe to strike the humans amidst their celebrations and capture the ship''s crew, as she had been ordered.


    Except the moment had proven unripe indeed. Disastrously so.


    ¡°¡­Very curious," Ekve commented at last.


    Lithara tilted her head. ¡°Sire?¡±


    ¡°Our loyal spies have been pursuing rumor from Garanhir and other earthmotes for years concerning a Kine chieftain, Nils Civorage. He has grown greatly in power and influence in just ten years, and I had thought him a threat, or possibly an asset. It was he who first put out a hunt for this Cavalier Queen. Now it seems he had very good reason indeed...."


    ¡°Yes, Sire.¡±


    Ekve chuckled at Lithara''s diplomatically neutral reply, and decided to give away no more, for now. ¡°¡­I commend you. Though the raid was a disaster, you could not have known it would be, and you have returned with valuable knowledge. I do appreciate a raid captain who keeps their head when things go wrong.¡±


    She smiled, and inclined her head downwards in a grateful bow. ¡°You are very kind, Sire.¡±


    ¡°How would you like to be consort for a spell? I¡¯m sure Valis and Orod will be delighted to let us consummate our union by spilling their blood together¡­¡±


    Lithara¡¯s smile grew wider, and she opened her mouth to reply only for her expression, and jaw, to fall quite abruptly as her gaze slid past Ekve to focus on something behind his shoulder.


    Ekve turned. There was a¡­troubled¡­moment, when his eye seemed to skip over something he couldn¡¯t quite make sense of, and then the feeling of things snapping into place. There was somebody standing behind him, under the arches of the pergola. Somebody slight, tiny even, clad in shades of grey and subtle brown. Her feet were bare, her body concealed behind layer upon layer of smoke-thin whispy fabric swept up into a hood, which was pulled so low over the eyes that all Ekve could see of her face was a set of thin, pale lips, and a stray curl of escaping hair the color of fallen leaves.


    Slowly, with his heart pounding suddenly in his ears, Ekve rose to his feet, took a step back, and bowed with his hand on his heart. ¡°My lady Valkyr¡­¡±


    She considered him for a moment, then took a step to her left and passed behind one of the pergola¡¯s pillars. She didn¡¯t emerge from the other side. As Ekve was blinking and wondering, he felt a light touch on his arm and Haust was there, right beside him.


    ¡°I have heard many marriage proposals in my time, Ekve,¡± she said. Her tone was light, soft and calm. ¡°But that was one of the most disturbing.¡±


    ¡°You made us eternal, My Lady,¡± Ekve pointed out. ¡°Who are we to refuse the joys your gift affords us?¡±


    Haust¡¯s lips and jaw moved slightly sideways. Then she was gone, as swiftly as a shadow fading when a cloud passed over. Ekve was left blinking and wondering whether that was the entirety of her visit, when the sound of her voice made him turn.


    ¡°And you, Lithara? I¡¯ve been proposed to many times, and I said yes to most of them no matter how fumbling or strange, but I have never been offered murder as an incentive to wed. Is the idea of torturing your friends and tribe-kin to death so enticing?¡±


    Lithara blinked at the Crown, then at Ekve, then back at the Crown. ¡°May it please you, Lady Valkyr¡­It is, yes. I enjoy killing. And they will return.¡±


    ¡°And do you enjoy being killed so?¡± Haust asked. She shot a glance at Ekve that was entirely unreadable through her shadowy, diaphanous hood, but nevertheless felt critical. ¡°You must know that is how your own consortship will end.¡±


    Lithara¡¯s eyes flicked to Ekve¡¯s and held his gaze as she answered. ¡°In the right circumstances, My Lady¡­yes.¡±


    ¡°Hmm.¡± Haust considered the bas-reliefs around them, then sighed and shook her head. ¡°We really fucked you up, didn¡¯t we?¡±


    She shimmered again, and faded from view. Ekve waited, certain she would reappear, but¡­no. The subtle, tickling sense of her presence drained away, leaving shallower shadows and brighter colors.


    Lithara exhaled as she relaxed. ¡°What was that abou¡ª?¡±


    There was an awful flash and an impact like Ekve had never felt. The whole earthmote lurched underfoot, and instants later the roof tiles came raining down around them to smash on the flagstones. High overhead, with a crunching and splintering, the high spire in which he¡¯d awoken just an hour earlier swayed, broke, and fell. He could hear shouting, screaming, wails of confusion and fear.


    Another impact made him stagger, and fractured all the mortar in every one of the palace¡¯s walls. Lithara moved to his side, either to protect him or for protection, but Valkyr was back, and this time there was nothing serene or ethereal about her. She was twice her former height now, and she loomed above them as she stalked out of the billowing dust, trailing her capes behind her like the wings of a terrible storm. Both Ekve and Lithara retreated on instinct, shying away from her, but somehow she was faster, her unhurried pace carrying her to them as though the intervening distance were only a suggestion.


    Lithara fell to her knees as the Crown approached, and Haust touched her lightly on the forehead, laying a hand there as though blessing her.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± she said, almost choking on the words. ¡°We failed you so terribly.¡±


    She pinched her fingers and drew a seething, lively spark from Lithara¡¯s forehead as though plucking lint from a swatch of fabric. Lithara twitched, once, then slumped sideways and collapsed to the ground dead.


    ¡°My Lady!¡± Ekve protested, holding up his hands as though she might heed him and stop. ¡°Why?!¡±


    Haust raised the naked soul in her fingertips to eye height and turned it back and forth in the same way a jeweler might consider how best to re-cut a damaged gem. Whatever she saw in Lithara¡¯s essence, she sighed softly and tucked it away in a pocket woven from smoke and shadow before finally turning to address Ekve.


    ¡°Because it¡¯s what you need,¡± she said. The smoke and dust curled, and she was gone.


    Ekve was still gawping at where she had been when a huge, dark, beringed and heavy hand clapped down companionably on his shoulder with enough force to buckle his knees. It was attached to a thick arm draped in silks and finery, which rested heavily across his neck and hugged him close. The aroma of wine, incense, perfume, spices and sweetmeats eclipsed the smells of his palace collapsing as the mote-shattering force laying waste to Vathordweth continued its unseen rampage.


    ¡°We¡¯re all sorry, Ekve. We really are. We thought and hoped time would be enough, but¡­here we are.¡± Prince Sayf gave him an avuncular kiss on the forehead.


    ¡°Wh¡ª? Wh¡ª?¡± Ekve couldn¡¯t even stammer the word out. He wasn¡¯t even sure if it he meant to ask what or why.


    ¡°In the fullness of time, I¡¯m sure you all would have come around. But time is no longer on our sides, and our respect for your free wills must now be tempered by larger concerns; remember, we may be as unto gods, but we are not God. We are not infinite, and we no longer have the luxury of waiting for you all to mature out of this phase.¡±


    Ekve struggled to squirm and look up into the Summer Crown¡¯s eyes. ¡°Phase? What are you¡ª?¡±


    ¡°I know, I know. We made you immortal, so that must mean we made you to rule, right? They don¡¯t matter, only you do, beccause you are eternal and they are not. I understand why you think that. It¡¯s not that stupid a conclusion to draw, really. But it¡¯s exactly backwards. I¡¯m sorry we didn¡¯t make that clearer from the start.¡±


    ¡°But¡ª¡±


    ¡°Hush, now. Absorb the moment. There¡¯s a terrible poetry in all this, don¡¯t you think?¡± Sayf gestured around at the disintegrating palace. As the walls came crashing down, Ekve realized he could see the airships burning at their anchorage, and some overpowering force had smashed down all the city around the palace too. ¡°It¡¯s a story of arrogance, aloofness, excess and twisted priorities. How power makes the powerful blind to their lessons¡­and the story of how victims beget victims. Fucking beautiful, in a tragic way. And humbling.¡±


    ¡°H¡ª¡±


    ¡°Yeah, humbling. I¡¯m so old, Ekve. So incredibly old, you can¡¯t even grasp it. And that¡¯s no allegory, if we actually managed to fit a true understanding of the number inside that skull of yours, it would implode your brain. Literally. And yet¡­I still have lessons to learn. I still make mistakes. Even after all this time, even as deep as the four of us go¡­we¡¯re still only human.¡±


    His eyes were shining, Ekve realized. ¡°I used to hate being humbled, but nowadays¡­It¡¯s a gift, Ekve. A precious gift like no other. I hope you¡¯ll come to love it the way I do too.¡±


    He smiled sadly as another blast rocked the earthmote, and kindly moved Ekve aside as a vast crack shot right through the courtyard and split the ground open wide and deep. Ekve reeled: he''d seen sky at the bottom of that rift, suggesting the entire mote had just been cracked in half.


    Before he could fumble together another attempt at a question, Sayf gave him a hug, turned him around, pushed him away. Ekve stumbled a few steps, spun around to try and ask something, anything¡­but the Crown wasn¡¯t there any longer. Only the lingering scent of perfume and the fading sound of masculine humming betrayed that he¡¯d been there at all.


    ¡°Lord Cankuu!¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s gone, dear one,¡± a new voice said, carried on a coil of air so cold it raised the hairs on his arm. He turned, knowing exactly who he would see now.


    Sure enough, Queen Talvi was seated on the fountain¡¯s edge, where her mere presence had frozen the water¡¯s dance solid in mid-air. Unlike Haust¡¯s visible sorrow and Sayf¡¯s bittersweet smile, her expression was grim and serious, as she curled a finger to beckon him then pointed at a spot in front of her. Authoritative and scolding.


    Numbly, Ekve obeyed. There were no thoughts in his head now, only a sensation of plummeting toward an inevitable fate he could do nothing to avoid.


    Ithmatra looked him up and down. Whatever she saw, she didn¡¯t comment. Instead, she rose to her feet, spread her arms, and drew him into an incongruously warm hug. Ekve stiffened, rigid with fear and doubt and turmoil.


    ¡°Just remember¡­you are loved, no matter what,¡± she said.


    And then there was one. Ekve blinked at the blizzard swirl of ice crystals that settled around him, and breathed in the fresh, cold air she¡¯d left behind. Something shook the ground behind him, and turned toward the sense of radiant heat and pressure now growing on him.


    King E?rrach strolled through the palace rubble, pushing aside one of the last standing walls with no more effort than Ekve would have put into waving away a fly. Ekve¡¯s breath caught: he¡¯d seen Caernnenas before, of course, on the Day of Creation when he and all the million other Fey and the first million kine had formed from dust and raw life on an earthmote they¡¯d never identified. The Crowns had bid them welcome to life, filled their heads with the knowledge of how to survive and then, at a gesture, scattered them across the worlds.


    Later, he¡¯d seen Caernnenas as a distant mote of brilliant light and power as he laid waste to Vathcanarthen, but a human arrow had ended that Chal before he could properly lay eyes to the forestfather.


    Now, he realized with a sinking feeling, Caernnenas preferred the brutish form of a human. He was vast, muscle-laden and deep-cut in his brawn, blunter and more brutal than any kine Ekve had ever laid eyes upon. His face was square, his hair wild and untamed, his body deliberately devoid of the elfish graces.


    That, all by itself, was a dismaying message.


    Caernnenas said nothing. Ekve said nothing. They had nothing to say to each other. He just bowed his head, and waited for judgement.


    There was a long, still moment. The only sounds now were the crackling of flames and the hiss of dust blowing on the breeze.


    Then a flash of light.


    Then limbo.

 Chapter 8: The Ever-Present Threat

    <blockquote>


    ¡°True, the Dukesmoot itself only lasts a couple of days, but these balls, salons and parties go on for a tenday to either side. And mark my words, darling, far more of the business of state gets done at these soir¨¦es than at the Moot itself¡­¡± ¡ªThe late Duke Einharth of Enerlend to his daughter, overheard at a party


    </blockquote>


    <h2>Dressing for the salon</h2>


    Auldenheigh, Garanhir Earthmote 09.05.15.12.11


    ¡°There. You look almost perfect.¡±


    Ellaenie considered herself in the mirror and had to agree. If there was one thing to be said for nearly exhausting herself with healing spells a week earlier, it had certainly left her looking fashionably skinny. Not that magical overexertion was a terribly wise approach to watching her figure, but¡­she did look good.


    ¡°I swear, there¡¯s a third kind of magic in the worlds, and you two are masters at it,¡± she said, turning this way and that. Her gown flowed and spread at the ankles as she did, just the perfect amount.


    ¡°Mm.¡± Adrey fussed around her with some rouge. ¡°And speaking of magic, whatever happened to that lovely opal magestone I gave you? I rather designed this entire outfit to match it¡­¡±


    ¡°Oh, Adrey¡­¡± Ellaenie cringed. ¡°You¡¯re going to hate me for this¡­¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t tell me you lost it somehow?¡±


    ¡°I left it on King E?rrach¡¯s earthmote,¡± Ellaenie confessed. Actually, she wasn¡¯t entirely sure that was completely true: the glade and altar she¡¯d actually left it on might be right here on Garanhir. But the whole experience had been so otherworldly and dreamlike that it was true enough¡­especially seeing as the sacrifice had been important to her. She wasn¡¯t about to go back and retrieve it.


    ¡°Oh. Well!¡± Adrey paused. ¡°I¡­imagine you had rather a lot on your mind, then.¡±


    ¡°I really did. Still¡­I¡¯m sorry. I loved it so much¡­¡±


    Adrey sighed, but she just wasn¡¯t the sort of person to get too upset over such a thing. ¡°You¡¯re forgiven. But do take better care of your things in future, won¡¯t you?¡±


    Ellaenie nodded solemnly.


    Lisze leaned forward. She¡¯d relaxed quite a lot since their return to the city and a return to normalcy, and now her face was alight with the need for gossip. ¡°What is he like?¡± she asked.


    ¡°Overpowering. Incredible. Terrifying.¡± Ellaenie shook her head, trying to convey that those three words fell far short of an adequate description. Then, because her experiences had definitely loosened her buttons on some matters, she dropped her voice conspiratorially. ¡°He propositioned me.¡±


    ¡°Ellie!¡±


    ¡°It''s true! He showed me a vision of what lying with him would be like.¡± Ellaenie grinned at Lisze¡¯s shocked expression and Adrey¡¯s more intrigued one. ¡°It was rather a vivid vision, too.¡±


    ¡°My goodness!¡± Adrey was, in many ways, much less innocent than Lisze. She gave Ellaenie a knowing look. ¡°Were you tempted?¡±


    ¡°¡­Briefly,¡± Ellaenie replied, with affected primness.


    Adrey smirked, then turned to go dig through the jewelery boxes. ¡°I¡¯d have accepted.¡±


    Lisze¡¯s expression turned scandalized, and quite crimson. ¡°Addy!¡±


    ¡°Oh don¡¯t be such a prude, Liz. Some experiences are worth risking a little scandal.¡±


    Ellaenie covered her mouth to fight back her giggles. ¡°He¡¯s¡­rather too much for me.¡± she said, softly.


    ¡°What about Rheannach? Did you meet her?¡± Lisze asked.


    ¡°I did.¡± No need for the full truth.


    ¡°What is she like?¡± Adrey asked, holding up a black jet and silver necklace before setting it aside as a ¡¯maybe.¡¯


    Ellaenie sighed. Rheannach hadn¡¯t returned since flying out the window in bird form, though she was still in touch. Sometimes, Ellaenie could tell she was in the herald¡¯s thoughts: the feeling was rather like being aware of a strong swell of affection, like hearing a soft noise in an adjacent room. ¡°She¡¯s¡­very easy to fall in love with.¡±


    ¡°I suppose that would make sense. She is the goddess of love.¡±


    ¡°Yes. I miss her terribly.¡±


    She caught the curious look Lisze and Adrey gave each other, and hastened to clarify. ¡°I don¡¯t mean¡ªshe just¡­she stepped right into the hole in my heart where Mother used to be. I haven¡¯t felt like that since she and Father were taken.¡±


    There was a long, sad silence. Adrey stopped what she was doing and gave Ellaenie a hug. ¡°Now. Don¡¯t start weeping, or we shall have to re-do your makeup and then we shall be even later than we already are,¡± she chided.


    And that was what best friends were for. Somehow, she transformed Ellaenie¡¯s mood from sorrow to laughter in just one sentence. ¡°Right! Yes.¡±


    ¡°And don¡¯t worry about the magestone. Maybe you¡¯ll go get it back from him at some point and he can have his way with you after all.¡±


    Behind her, Lisze buried her glowing red face in her hands. Ellaenie grinned, then stage-whispered. ¡°You know, I might just do that.¡±


    ¡°You are both wicked and vile!¡± Lisze exclaimed. She looked like she was about to start steaming, but there was amusement fighting for dominance over the blush. Adrey laughed, clapped her hands, then turned and picked up up a black velvet choker strung with emeralds.


    ¡°Here. An adequate replacement.¡±


    ¡°I like it,¡± Ellaenie agreed. ¡°Is there anything else?¡±


    ¡°Lisze? Her bag?¡±


    Lisze cooled enough to collect it and take inventory. ¡°Let¡¯s see¡­dance card, fan, a little rouge for touch-ups, some coins to tip the driver and footmen, a couple of well-charged magestones for an emergency¡ªI am never letting you go anywhere without them ever again¡ª


    ¡°Fair,¡± Ellaenie agreed.


    ¡°¡ªand I asked that new cook of yours, Mrs. Baker, to make some toffees for if you get faint.¡±


    ¡°Then I think that¡¯s everything,¡± Adrey declared. ¡°Come on, you¡¯re already fashionably late. Let¡¯s not make it insultingly late. Besides, we don¡¯t want to cut into your dancing time.¡±


    Ellaenie nodded. It was a peculiar fact of her life as duchess that she spent a lot of her time being ordered around and told where she had to be. Between her equerry, her ladies-in-waiting and nowadays Saoirse, days where she actually got to set her own schedule had become nonexistent.


    Not that she particularly minded, as such. So, she amiably allowed them to escort her out to the waiting carriage, where she sat and re-read the guest list and reminders of who was who and other minutiae of a social function throughout the short ride to Lendwick Place.


    ¡°Oh dear¡­that is an awful lot of well-connected young men of about the right age and station, isn¡¯t it? Why do I get the feeling one of this dukesmoot¡¯s foci will be the battle to marry me?¡±


    ¡°Rather obvious, isn¡¯t it?¡± Adrey agreed.


    ¡°Who looks good?¡±


    ¡°Oh, they¡¯re all¡­suitable,¡± Adrey allowed. ¡°I suppose it depends what you¡¯re after and which House you feel most inclined to strengthen ties with.¡±


    ¡°And which one will least get in your way,¡± Lisze added. ¡°You don¡¯t want a husband who¡¯s going to come in and think he can shove you aside and relegate you to pretty arm decoration.¡±


    ¡°Oh, I wouldn¡¯t worry about that, Lizzy¡± Adrey replied, breezily. ¡°Men are much too simple creatures to get the better of our dear duchess. She¡¯ll run circles around any husband, I¡¯m sure of it!¡±


    Lisze laughed softly, watching the streets roll by out the carriage window. ¡°Why not put it off though, Ellie? It¡¯s not like you¡¯re in any danger of being an old maid, you¡¯ll be the most eligible lady in the worlds for years yet! You have your studies, this business with the Oneists¡­do you really need to add a courtship to your complications?¡±


    ¡°If I don¡¯t, it will just become a perennial distraction at every Dukesmoot,¡± Ellaenie pointed out. ¡°Better to sort it out now. Besides, the right man for me will be an ally and asset, not a hindrance.¡±


    ¡°A rare creature indeed,¡± Adrey commented, drily. ¡°You¡¯ll be waiting a good long time to find a useful man. Take my advice, snap up a nice meek one who¡¯ll be happy to spend his days reading and shooting while you get on with business.¡±


    ¡°Addy, I don¡¯t want meek,¡± Ellaenie complained. ¡°Who wants a boring husband? I¡¯d rather have one with some fire in him.¡±


    ¡°Good luck. When it comes to men, your options are handsome, intelligent and passionate, pick two. At best.¡± Adrey went digging in her own bag and found a mint humbug. ¡°None of them will ever live up to King E?rrach, you know.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t expect them to! But one of these days you¡¯re going to have to tell me which absolute cad gave you such a poor opinion of men.¡± It was really quite sad to see the knot of disappointed resentment burning in her best friend¡¯s soul. Worse still, Ellaenie was pretty sure it was a wound she would never be able to heal herself. That would depend on Adrey finding the right man¡­and being open to him.


    ¡°Every single one I have ever known,¡± Adrey sighed.


    Lisze frowned at her. ¡°Oh, now that seems unfair. I¡¯ve met some wonderful men. And what about your father? I¡¯ve certainly never heard you utter one bad word against him, and I rather like him myself¡­¡±


    ¡°Not to mention he¡¯s quite the silver fox,¡± Ellaenie added, unable to resist the chance to tease both her friends at once.


    ¡°Ellie!¡± Adrey objected, equal parts shocked and tickled. ¡°Oh, Raksuul¡¯s love, no!¡±


    Hot pinkness spread instantly across Lisze¡¯s nose and cheeks, even reaching her eartips. Ellaenie had, apparently, struck a nerve. ¡°Oh, no! I mean¡­well, yes, but¡ªthat is¡­he is, yes. But he¡¯s far too old for me, of course¡­¡± She fidgeted with her bag.


    ¡°Lizzy!¡± Adrey tried to glare at her.


    ¡°Why should that matter?¡± Ellaenie disagreed. ¡°There¡¯s a certain special beauty in an autumn-spring romance, I think¡­¡±


    Adrey groaned, in an attempt to pretend she wasn¡¯t giggling. ¡°Ellie, you are the worst!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m just saying, the poor man has been a widower since you were born. He deserves to find love again.¡±


    ¡°Maybe so, but Lizzy darling? Don¡¯t you dare. Though I love you dearly, I could not survive having you for a step-mother!¡±


    ¡°Maybe I should marry him, then,¡± Ellaenie quipped.


    ¡°Winter¡¯s tits!¡± Adrey cursed. ¡°Kill me now and spare me the suffering!¡±


    Lisze snorted into her palm, and that was it for them. They descended into an entirely unladylike fit of the giggles that lasted until their carriage turned through the gates of Lendwick Place. The Earl of Lendwick, Eckard, was her mother¡¯s cousin, technically making him Ellaenie¡¯s second cousin. But she¡¯d always known him as her uncle. He and her mother had been close as siblings all their lives, and now, he was doing her the great favour of coming to Auldenheigh to support her through the Dukesmoot.


    The last one had been, for lack of a better word, an ordeal. She¡¯d been younger in so many ways, still mourning her parents, still uncertain of herself, still having no real sense of being ready for the role. She¡¯d made it through, but left with the sense that the other dukes had taken the opportunity to take a few bites out of Enerlend¡­or would have, if not for Uncle Eckard.


    This year was different. Her apprenticeship under Rheannach and Saoirse, the experience of meeting (and being flirted with by) one of the Crowns, the swell of public support she¡¯d gained after the riots in Whitten¡­she felt confident this year. Like she was walking into a situation she knew and could navigate, rather than stumbling unprepared into an arena. So, her arrival at Lendwick Place was suitably regal. She tipped the coachman as she alighted, then stood on the gravel a moment to take an appreciative breath. Her aunt Brenilda had a favourite trick of infusing the lightstones with an olfactory enchantment, so that they cast a bouquet of sweet scents to match their colorful blend of pink and orange glow.


    Adding to that effect was the misty night, aftermath of a rainy day. The colors lit the fog and filled the air, closing the whole world down into a fine, beautiful, warm bubble that promised magic of a sort that was neither Art nor Craft. The magic of fun.


    Lendwick Place was a fine house, nearly as grand as the palace in its decor and details, though obviously much more modest in scale. With its large ballroom and spacious conservatory it was the perfect place to hold a salon, and Ellaenie had many fond memories of playing with cousins and friends amongst its gardens, a lifetime ago. Now, she smiled at Major Droles as he trotted down the stairs to chaperone her.


    ¡°Good evening, major.¡±


    ¡°Good evening, your grace.¡± He took her hand bowed to kiss her knuckles, then fell in alongside to escort her up the stairs to the front door.


    ¡°How is it tonight?¡± Ellaenie asked as a couple of younger officers from Droles¡¯ regiment bowed to her, waiting to escort Lisze and Adrey.


    ¡°So far, all very amiable. Her grace Thaighn Saoirse is holding court in the piano room. She and your aunt are already firm friends, it seems.¡±


    Ellaenie giggled imagining her aunt and mentor both holding forth on matters personal and political. ¡°How much gin have they got through?¡±


    ¡°Only half a bottle, so far.¡± Droles¡¯ waxed moustache didn¡¯t so much as twitch: he was the most effortlessly poker-faced, dry-witted man Ellaenie had ever met. ¡°The night is still young, of course.¡±


    They paused before entering the ballroom, received the nod from the announcer and entered to the sound of Ellaenie¡¯s full styles and titles. ¡±Presenting her Grace the Duchess of Enerlend, Ellaenie of House Banmor, Earl of Vathelan, Earl of the Heighlands, Baron of the Old City, Warden of the Unworn Crown, Guardian of the Vacant Throne, Steward of the Dukesmoot, Dame Most Learned of the most excellent Order of the Veil! Her companions: Adrey Mossjoy, Countess of Whitcairn, Dame Celebrant of the most wonderful Order of the Rose. Lady Lisze Bledel, baroness of Fiveroads¡ª¡±


    And so on. The music stopped, room stood to bow and curtsey, Ellaenie dipped a curtsey in return, and the formalities were duly observed. She smiled as the dance resumed where it had left off, thanked Droles for escorting her, snapped her fan open with a flourish she''d been practicing, and mingled.


    The etiquette in these moments had always struck her as ridiculous. The dukes were expected to avoid each other at first, so as to avoid any unseemly sense of urgency. The first quarter hour, in fact, was spent meeting debutantes, a trickle of fresh-faced delights dismayingly not that much younger than Ellaenie herself.


    The second quarter hour, for an eligible young woman her age, was to be spent scouting potential suitors. But, importantly, absolutely not actually interacting with them. Just¡­survey. And then gossip about them with Lisze and Adrey, whose job it was tonight to ensure only the ones who truly caught her eye would ask her to dance¡­


    ¡°Hmm. I like that uniform, ¡° Lisze commented, pointing out a relaxed and smiling officer by the fire. ¡°The Cantrese First of Foot, am I right?¡±


    ¡°Mhm. And it does look rather good on him doesn''t it?¡± Ellaenie agreed. ¡°¡­He''s familiar, I swear.¡±


    Adrey giggled. ¡°Familiar? Yes, he should be. You remember six years ago, after that summer visiting the Countess of Frudlend? You came back complaining of this dreadful boy who followed you around like a lost puppy¡­¡±


    ¡°Oh, Crowns! Is that him? Uh¡­Betrem.¡±


    ¡°Yes indeed. Lord Betrem Telliker, your third cousin on your father''s side.¡±


    Ellaenie considered him anew. Six years had been very kind to Betrem. Not just in his looks, which had grown broad-shouldered and military, and quite cleared up his spotty complexion, but in his self as well. She didn¡¯t even need the witch-sight to tell his boyhood desperate arrogance had softened into well-earned poise and easy charm.


    He glanced her way and caught her considering him. And to his credit, he took it in stride: a small bow of his head, while holding eye contact. Ellaenie fanned herself thoughtfully a moment then, without looking away, she leaned closer to Lisze and said, ¡°definitely yes.¡± She watched him realise what she''d said and why. Watched a complicated flower of hope and anxiety blossom behind his confident facade, slightly eroding it. She flashed a small parting smile and looked elsewhere.


    There were others, of course. Plenty of good matches, many of them handsome, all politically suitable. But perhaps it was because she''d know Betrem before and could see how improved he was, she found herself looking forward to dancing with him the most.


    Alas, there was no more time for surveying: the time had come to greet her fellow dukes. There was an etiquette for the order in which they should be met, too, most geographically distant first, closest last. Which would normally mean Duque Diago la Forjar de los Oderos.


    But Thaighn Saoirse Crow-Sight was equal in stature and formality to a duke, and she was from much, much further away. So, etiquette demanded she be greeted first.


    Saoirse of course was not overly troubled by Garanese manners, and in any case was enjoying the Lendwicks¡¯ excellent gin. She was sitting by the piano, wrapped in her nicest tartan shawls and fine silver brooches, and though she didn¡¯t rise¡ªarthritic knees were apparently a great though painful excuse for skipping certain formalities¡ªshe did stretch up to give Ellaenie a grandmotherly hug.


    ¡°¡¯Tis a funny thing, these Garanese parties,¡± she said, as though picking up a conversation they¡¯d both been in the middle of a couple of hours ago. ¡°The food an¡¯ drink are fair delicate, the conversation e¡¯en more so, the music an¡¯ dancin¡¯ are as strained a hen layin¡¯ a swan¡¯s egg¡­an¡¯ yet, I¡¯m havin¡¯ a grand time.¡±


    Ellaenie laughed, and turned to give her aunt Brenilda a hug and a kiss on the cheek. ¡°I hope she¡¯s not giving you too much trouble,¡± she said.


    Saoirse snorted and sipped her gin. Oh, you wee terror.


    Auntie Bren gave Ellaenie a tight squeeze and shook her head. ¡°On the contrary. She¡¯s already chased off some of the most boring people imaginable. I haven¡¯t had this much fun at one of these things in years! More gin, Saoirse?¡±


    ¡°If¡¯n I say no, it¡¯ll be because I¡¯ve fallen asleep or dropped dead,¡± Saoirse promised.


    ¡°A woman after my own heart.¡±


    ¡°Aye, indeed. Anyway, ye¡¯ve done ¡®yer duty by comin¡¯ and greetin¡¯ the foreign dignitary ye¡¯ve no doubt had enough of by now anyway, Ellaenie love. I cannae spare you havin¡¯ to meet the others.¡±


    Ellaenie gave her aunt and the Thaighn a quizzical look, wondering just how much Saoirse had actually shared¡ª


    Saoirse met her eye. More than ye¡¯d like. And she had some right embarrassin¡¯ stories of ¡®yer youth to share as well. Now go on! Leave us be, maiden witch.


    Oh dear. Oh well. Ellaenie shook her head in defeat. ¡°I¡¯ll see you both later after the dancing, then.¡±


    ¡°Splendid. But I¡¯d love to dance with you a little later, if you can find room on your card for me,¡± Bren said.


    ¡°I¡¯ll find it,¡± Ellaenie promised, and left them both to continue becoming fast friends.


    Next up, the Duque of Oderlend. Fortunately, Duque Diago was not one to stand on formality either. He flung his arms wide as soon as they were brought together and boomed, ¡°Ellaenie! My darling! Let me look at you!¡± He took a step back, ran a smiling eye all up and down her. ¡°Ah! The most beautiful young lady to walk Garanhir!¡±


    Ellaenie smiled, genuinely pleased by the compliment even though she knew it was pure etiquette, and stetched up on her toes to kiss his bearded cheeks: Diago replied in kind, with a flourish and a ¡°Mwah! Mwah!¡± sound.


    ¡°It¡¯s been far too long, your grace,¡± she said, and linked arms with him to take a stroll around the room. ¡°I hope the Duquesa¡¯s health is improving? I was quite sorry to learn she wouldn¡¯t be coming this year.¡±


    ¡°With every day, thank you. The air of Gideon¡¯s Reach seems to agree with her. And your own health? We all heard about your act of charity, healing the poor¡­¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m quite recovered, thank you. It was necessary.¡±


    ¡°Yes¡­¡± Diago¡¯s neat salt-and-pepper beard shifted a little as he thought. ¡°These Oneists. You are quite worried by them.¡±


    ¡°They tried to foment a riot,¡± Ellaenie pointed out.


    ¡°That is¡­not neighborly of them, it is true.¡±


    ¡°I believe it was just their first exploration. An opening move, to get the measure of me.¡±


    He nodded solemnly. ¡°You intend to bring this matter to the Dukesmoot, yes?¡±


    ¡°Of course.¡±


    ¡°I can see why. And given it was your late father who helped me put down the upstart Navarro, and Navarro¡¯s daughter who murdered your parents, I feel I owe you support in this matter. But are you certain of this accusation? To baselessly accuse a church that shows much charity to the poor is a precarious move¡­¡±


    ¡°Their charity to the poor is all part of the ploy,¡± Ellaenie retorted. ¡°After the riot, I had my people reach out to make a show of cooperation. They dodged it. If they really had the people¡¯s interests in heart, if they were really concerned with reform for the betterment of all, they would be eager to work with me. Instead, they have withdrawn.¡±


    ¡°I see.¡± Diago looked around the room thoughtfully. ¡°I imagine your greatest obstacle will be Duchess Brigitte. The church has a strong footing in Cantre and has done much for her people. She will be¡­leery, of taking a stance against them. Maksovar, of course, is your loyal cousin and friend, I do not think he will hesitate for a moment to follow your lead.¡±


    ¡°I hope you¡¯re right¡­¡±


    ¡°I always am. But, we are getting ahead of ourselves. The Dukesmoot is not for another five days, is it? Come. I want you to meet my nephew, Bastilo.¡±


    Ellaenie put on her smile. She knew Bastilo as a name on a family tree of course, and had predicted this move. Ever since the Oderan King¡¯s uprising, Oderlend had been in a state of political isolation to match its physical isolation from the rest of Garanhir, beyond not just one, but two quite challenging mountain ranges. A marriage between Duque Diago¡¯s nephew and herself would go a long way to healing that rift. In fact if Ellaenie¡¯s father had still been alive, it was probably the union he would have preferred to arrange.


    Ellaenie would never have chosen to trade her parents for the freedom to make the choice herself. But she was, nevertheless, a little glad that the decision was hers to make and none other¡¯s. Given the choice, she¡¯d much rather marry for affection than for politics.


    She needn¡¯t have worried. Bastilo was as hirsutely handsome as his uncle, dark and tanned and tall, with interestingly dark eyes and a euphonious accent she enjoyed listening to. They didn¡¯t have the time to converse about anything substantial, but he did reveal an interest in the Art, and a love for poetry she found quite charming¡­


    As she parted ways with Duque Diago, Ellaenie whispered to Adrey to make room for Bastilo on her dance card.


    And so she came to Brigitte of House Rothwaker, the Duchess of Cantre.


    The relationship between Cantre and Enerlend had never failed to be strained, even now hundreds of years after the war for the throne had ended in stalemate and the Dukesmoot had been established in place of a monarch. Ellaenie had an entire shelf on the various battles of Throne Pass, where Enerlish and Cantrese forces had clashed again and again over the generations. Even though the last such was long since consigned to the annals of history, the two duchies still maintained a certain animosity: Enerlish tradition had it that the Cantrese were like little yappy dogs: quick to pick a fight, quicker still to run at the first sign of real opposition, and utterly unmovable in refusing to acknowledge defeat.


    Duchess Brigitte, from what Ellaenie remembered of her, did nothing to defy that image. Indeed, in what must surely be a calculated statement, she was carrying a small dog, a stout and large-eared little fellow with a flat face like somebody had smacked him in the nose with an oar, who growled at all who came near.


    Ellaenie knew how to handle that, at least. She wove a subtle glamer of calmness and likableness around her as she approached, directed at the dog¡¯s simple mind. He yawned, and the stumpy little landscape at the point of his rump where once his ancestors had boasted a tail waggled happily at her. Brigitte shot the dog a faintly surprised look, then hoisted a smile into position.


    ¡°Your grace!¡± she bobbed a shallow curtsey. ¡°How wonderful to see you! I do hope whatever delayed your arrival was nothing too vexing¡­¡±


    Ellaenie bobbed a curtsey of her own. ¡°I hope you have not waited long, your grace. My gown needed taking in a little.¡±


    ¡°Oh my dear thing, yes. You really are looking quite willowy. I do hope your exertions haven¡¯t entirely robbed you of your strength.¡±


    ¡°I feel quite strong now, thank you,¡± Ellaenie replied, smoothly. The trick was to have a skin like stone, don¡¯t let the barbs and hooks sink in.


    ¡°Oh, I am glad.¡± Brigitte tickled affectionately at her dog¡¯s nose as if this might somehow reset his belligerence, then forged on stoically when he entirely failed to start hating Ellaenie. ¡°I must ask, dear, if you will accept some advice from one who has occupied this role rather longer than you, if you have entirely considered the damage being seen getting your hands so dirty will have done to your image.¡±


    ¡°I am sure there are some, especially among the nobility, who believe I have debased myself,¡± Ellaenie agreed, carefully. Through witch-sight, Brigitte¡¯s real meaning was almost painfully loud: You stupid girl, do you have any idea just how much trouble your little stunt has caused me? Now we¡¯re all expected to go grubbing in the dirt like you.


    ¡°Debased? Oh, no, my dear, I¡¯d never say such a thing.¡± To your face. ¡°I just thought it was worthy of us both to remember the dangers of undue populism. Not out of our own selfish interests of course, but out of a duty to the general public.¡± The plebs don¡¯t know the first thing about maintaining civilization and you, you thoughtless little class traitor, are dancing to their tune.


    Ellaenie nearly reeled from the sheer veiled hostility, but contained herself. She paused a moment to accept a glass of champagne from a passing server, and used the time to compose herself, and her reply. ¡°I daresay there¡¯s a balance to be struck between excessive populism and heeding the valid concerns of the people,¡± she said, meaning don¡¯t insult me by assuming I didn¡¯t think about this. ¡°And in light of the populist riot incited by the Oneists, I thought it best to take personal action to discredit their slander. I¡¯m sure you can see the value in such a stratagem.¡± Or are you really so witless that you would have played straight into their hands?


    Brigitte did not stiffen as such, but there was a moment of stillness on her face, which she covered for by waving and smiling at a passing somebody. ¡°An exceptional response to exceptional circumstance is certainly understandable, my dear. I just wonder if you have considered the longer-term ramifications.¡± Give them an inch and they¡¯ll take a mile, any idiot knows that.


    ¡°Of course,¡± Ellaenie agreed, nodding. Of course I considered the longer-term ramifications, you condescending hag. ¡°I think of it as an investment in the city¡¯s future. A small concession now, to head off larger demands later.¡± Crowns, woman, do you really not understand that we¡¯re never more than a few bad weeks from revolution? Sometimes you have to give them a mile so they don¡¯t take your damn head!


    ¡°Precisely. The future, my dear, is about more than just your own sensibilities. Yours is quite a delicate position, you know.¡± You have no heir. If that mob had turned violent and killed you, what would have happened to Enerlend and Garanhir?


    Ellaenie paused, covering for it by sipping her drink. There, at least, Brigitte actually had a point. The strongest successor to Enerlend¡¯s rule was probably Duke Maksovar of Betlend, being her second cousin and also of House Banmor. But Maksovar himself was also yet to father an heir, and if the Dukesmoot decided that one duke could not rule more than one duchy (which Ellaenie guessed they almost certainly would) then that would leave either Betlend or Enerlend without a clear ruler.


    Throughout Garanhir¡¯s history, the consequence of such constitutional crises was usually war.


    And she could see Brigitte¡¯s follow-up coming a hundred miles off: Have you met [unmarried male relative of suitable age]?


    But Brigitte surprised her. ¡°And of course¡­if you¡¯ll permit me to speak plainly, my dear?¡±


    I wish you would. ¡°By all means.¡±


    ¡°There is much scurrilous rumour concerning your friendship with Thaighn Saoirse and her companion.¡± You¡¯re a witch and everyone knows it. Did you think we were stupid enough not to guess? ¡°Rumour that, frankly, if you do not quash it, could make it difficult for you to find the best possible match.¡± The scandal will destroy you just as surely as an angry mob you silly, debauched little girl.


    ¡°Thaighn Saoirse and Calyah have been good friends to me in the aftermath of my parents¡¯ death,¡± Ellaenie replied, stiffly.


    ¡°I am glad. And I am sure their friendship and support has been of great comfort to you.¡± Bullshit. ¡°Still, a hunting trip in the woods where you went missing for a couple of days, her own unabashed claiming of the title ''witch-thaighn¡­'' from what I heard, you returned from your adventures in the company of King E?rrach himself. My understanding is he prefers to go about¡­d¨¦shabill¨¦.¡±


    "Whatever his habit, I myself was quite well clothed throughout my time in his company, I assure you.¡± There was no need to mention her evening with Rheannach, of course.


    ¡°Still, the Craft is widely known to be a form of magic practiced by those who explicitly reject civilization. There is much talk of naked dancing and intoxicants and orgies. It¡¯s hardly a dignified and appropriate pursuit for a duchess of Garanhir, my dear.¡± At last, the polite veneer slipped off entirely, and Brigitte voiced her disapproval directly. ¡°I do not believe a young lady of your station can long survive in the estimations of her public or her peers if she is believed¡ªfairly or not¡ªto be indulging in such¡­fornication.¡±


    ¡°I was not aware the company and friendship of the Crowns themselves was such an impediment,¡± Ellaenie retorted. ¡°But allow me to be candid, your grace. I have not, at any time in my life, fornicated. Nor will I ever. My meeting with His Majesty was educational, transformative even, but nothing more. I remain perfectly virginal, thank you very much, and I must add that any further insinuations on that subject do not seem a fit topic for this or any other evening.¡±


    She added radiant indignity to her glamer, and to her immense satisfaction Brigitte at last lived up to the ¡®little dog¡¯ stereotype and shied away from the very fight she¡¯d started.


    ¡°I meant no aspersions, of course¡ª¡±


    ¡°Of course,¡± Ellaenie echoed, interrupting her. ¡°But I hope you will please excuse me. I do not wish to snub the Duc d¡¯Urstoin.¡± This was a complete waste of my time.


    Even as she thought it, though, a second thought came to her: On the contrary. She just embarrassed herself while I maintained my dignity for all to see. I can use that at the moot.


    The third thought that followed was a note of self-caution. Brigitte had been right about one thing, she¡¯d been doing this since long before Ellaenie herself was born. Surely somebody so experienced couldn¡¯t really be so clumsy a harridan, could she?


    ¡­Perhaps.


    In any case, having made her polite but firm exit from the conversation, Ellaenie turned her attention to Duc Michard, and to the rest of the party. She had a long night ahead of her, and one unpleasant conversation was not going to be sufficient to spoil her mood, of that she was determined. And it certainly wasn¡¯t going to spoil her fun when the time came to dance, later.


    If only Duchess Brigitte was not tangentially correct about one thing: Ellaenie would need to be judicious in her choice of man. She would need one who could be open-minded and thoughtful enough to see the Craft as just the other side of magic¡¯s coin, rather than some hedonistic pursuit of the terminally rebellious. How had that slanderous interpretation ever got started in the first place?


    Feeling out her suitors and choosing between them would be a subtle and lengthy process, but Ellaenie was eager to begin. Having seen for herself what Rheannach and E?rrach had, a love that could transcend and rebuild from even a deep wound, she found herself inspired and eager. And the fact was¡­she didn¡¯t want to be Maiden forever. The transition to Mother was both part of life and a sacred threshold of the Craft. She wanted to experience it, in all its hardship and joy. And the road to that moment might well begin tonight.


    She was eager to get started.


    <hr>


    <blockquote>


    ¡°The Most Excellent Order of the Veil is one of the four Enerlish orders which honour the Crowns. The Order of the Veil pays tribute to Lady Haust and is awarded to those who demonstrate mastery of the magical and political arts. The Order''s ranks are Knight/Dame (OV), Knight/Dame Scholar (KSV), and Knight/Dame Most Learned (MLV).¡± ¡ªAton d¡¯Traffe, The Knightly Orders of Garanhir


    </blockquote>


    <h2>Target Practice</h2>


    The Airship Cavalier Queen, docked at the Wandering isle 09.06.03.06.11


    ¡°Ready?¡±


    ¡°Any time you are.¡± Jerl braced himself, waggled his fingers near his pistol¡¯s grip to ready himself, and waited.


    Derghan nodded, then¡ª


    In slowed time, the motion of him throwing a handful of old weevily ship¡¯s biscuits up in the air was oddly interesting to watch. The way he dropped into his bent knees a little, the bunch and ripple of force moving through his body as he reversed course, tensed, heaved, pushed against the ground. All that unconscious strain in such a short span of time¡ª


    Six hard-baked chunks of spoiled food flipped and spun almost balletically from his palm, trailing crumbs as they climbed upwards and upwards. By the time the last of them had cleared Derghan¡¯s fingertips, Jerl¡¯s pistol had cleared leather. He actually had to take care in its course, guiding it slightly sideways, around and up to avoid muzzling Derghan.


    He was actually on target and aiming for nearly ten subjective seconds before he felt comfortable firing. Squeeze¡ª


    The hardest part was definitely the recoil. When he¡¯d done this against the elves he¡¯d strained against it, fought to keep the gun straight and level in his palm. Which, of course, was impossible. He¡¯d battered his forearms and palms to agony in the attempt. In subsequent practice sessions he¡¯d been a little too loose and relaxed with it, and the gun had slipped from his hands a couple times.


    He was starting to feel like he¡¯d found the balance of it, now. Like surfing the ship on a zephyr, he let his pistol shove firmly into his palm, let it blow off the worst of its force, then caught it and adjusted and fired again.


    And again. And again.


    He let go of Time after the sixth one and stepped back into the regular flow of the Worlds. Derghan sped up, snatching his hands back away from the cloud of pulverized hard tack he¡¯d made. ¡°Woah! Valkyr¡¯s arse!¡±


    ¡°You okay?¡± Jerl asked him, lowering his weapon.


    ¡°That will¡­never stop being really fuckin¡¯ intimidating.¡± Derghan shook himself. ¡°You should hear it from the outside. I didn¡¯t even know revolvers like yours could shoot that fast.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not hurting them, am I?¡± Jerl wondered. Derghan held out a hand, offering to check. Jerl nodded, flipped the weapon over, and place it in his palm, and sat waiting patiently while he gave them a good looking-at.


    ¡°¡­I don¡¯t think so¡­no, they¡¯re in good order. Just go easy on ¡®em when you reload. Soft hands, right?¡±


    Jerl heard Mouse chuckle from his spot nearby, sitting on the quarter deck stairs, and grinned when Derghan jumped and did the increasingly familiar double-take.


    ¡°Winter¡¯s tits, that¡¯s eerie! I keep forgettin¡¯ you even exist.¡±


    ¡°I know. It seems to be permanent.¡± Mouse shrugged.


    ¡°You think it¡¯s eerie for you¡­¡± Whisker was out on deck today, getting some fresh air. He was well on the mend by now, recovering his strength in leaps and bounds that were quite heartening to see. ¡°Imagine forgetting your own son.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t need to feel guilty about it, Dad. It¡¯s not your fault.¡±


    ¡°Easier said than felt, kid.¡±


    ¡°It could have been a lot worse,¡± Jerl pointed out. ¡°We could all be affected. Running the Queen if the crew kept forgetting its skipper, quartermaster, engineer and navigator all existed would be¡­¡±


    ¡°Challenging,¡± Amir suggested. ¡°Speaking of challenges, I note you are not in any obvious discomfort this time.¡±


    Jerl nodded. Actually his arm was feeling quite fatigued, but it was nothing like the searing deep-tissue spasming agony he¡¯d endured after the first time. ¡°Nuh. It¡¯s getting easier.¡±


    ¡°Your body is conditioning to it. And, I daresay, your mastery of the Word is growing as well. As is Mouse¡¯s.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, speaking of the Word¡ª¡± Derghan interjected. ¡°I notice we¡¯re still carrying the bloody thing around with us. There any reason for that? Why not do what you did with Time and throw it over the edge?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t have a premonition either way on that one,¡± Jerl said, thumbing new rounds into his pistol. ¡°With Time, I knew for a fact that all the good futures started with that moment. When it comes to Mind, I don¡¯t have that. So, we¡¯re going with Mouse¡¯s plan.¡±


    ¡°Which is?¡± Whisker asked, looking at his son.


    ¡°I want to be certain,¡± Mouse said. ¡°The first chance I get to to absolutely, definitely, positively throw it out of the worlds and into the Outside, I¡¯ll take it. If I bury it somewhere, there¡¯s a chance Civorage could recover its location and dig it back up. If I throw it away forever¡ª¡±


    Amir sucked air through his teeth, thoughtfully. Mouse looked at him. ¡°You don¡¯t approve?¡±


    ¡°If Time needed to be thrown away, so be it,¡± Amir said. ¡°But I do not think we should discard the Words lightly.¡±


    ¡°Or use them lightly,¡± Mouse replied.


    ¡°I was not going to suggest using them lightly. Only that the time may come when we need more than one master of Mind. Civorage had that word for ten long years, it has consumed and changed him into something far beyond human. If we are going to oppose a force like that, we need an equivalent force. And no offense, but I do not think you and he are equals, yet.¡±


    ¡°Makes sense to me,¡± Derghan agreed. ¡°An¡¯ if we don¡¯t throw it out, then the second-safest place it could be has gotta be bein¡¯ carried by the man everyone forgets about, yeah?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t¡­really want it near me,¡± Mouse said, shaking his head. ¡°I don¡¯t want to become what he did.¡±


    ¡°Eh. I reckon he started off a complete bastard. You¡¯re alright. Little skinny though. You should definitely eat better.¡±


    ¡°Derghan meanwhile has the opposite problem,¡± Jerl commented, earning some chuckles.


    ¡°Hey! If we crash-landed down on the Unbroken Earthmote, a thousand miles from civilization, I¡¯d be the last one to starve!¡±


    ¡°Or you¡¯d be the one we cook first.¡±


    ¡°And how are you lot going to bang together a big enough cooking pot without me to weld it?¡± Derghan shot back, grinning.


    ¡°Urgh,¡± Amir pulled a face. ¡°I know the Custom of the Skies is a thing, but must we?¡±


    ¡°You of all people, who was elbow-deep in my blood just a few days ago, are so squeamish?¡± Whisker asked him.


    ¡°Well, I apologize if the possibility of our demise has been rather heavily on my mind of late.¡± Amir rose to his feet and looked up to the skies. ¡°¡­If I may change the subject, I believe we may have to part ways with our host soon, if we wish to fly to Mehoom.¡±


    ¡°Why, what¡¯s the Isle doing?¡± Jerl asked.


    ¡°Curving spinward-by-pedestal, slowly. And sinking. Imdura and I are of slightly different minds where it will end up¡ªI suspect it¡¯s fallen into St¨®rsteinn¡¯s influence, he thinks it more likely we¡¯ll loop back around and come up on the Craenen from behind. Either way, we are as close to Il?yede now as this Isle is ever going to take us.¡±


    ¡°Then it¡¯s time to move on,¡± Jerl agreed. ¡°We¡¯ve got enough supplies for the voyage? Or are we gonna have to eat Derghan after all?¡±


    For all his protesting, Amir did chuckle at that one, while Derghan scoffed and aimed a good-natured vulgar gesture Jerl¡¯s way. ¡°We have enough,¡± he promised. ¡°Sinikka was quite pleased by your deal with Cerkos. She¡ªMouse?¡±


    Mouse had groaned suddenly and put a hand to the side of his head. A moment later, they all felt it: a swell of the most intense sorrow, regret and disappointment rolled through their minds with enough power to stagger. Jerl leaned on the railing and groaned at the pressure of an unfathomably powerful will¡¯s terrible self-recrimination¡­then gasped in release as it ceased.


    Almost as soon as it was gone a baleful, brilliant flash of light cast new and deep shadows sideways across the deck, forcing them all to flinch away and shield their eyes, crying out in alarm. It faded almost instantly, but left Jerl blinking away a horrible purple-green blind blob from the center of his vision.


    Whisker was the first to speak, in a strained groan. ¡°Crowns fuck me! What was that?¡±


    ¡°That was¡­oh, shit.¡± Mouse groaned and seemed about ready to claw his hair out by the roots. ¡°That was the Crowns. That was E?rrach himself.¡±


    ¡°Doing what?" Derghan asked. Her rubbed at his eyes, then squinted out into the sky, looking toward where the light had come from. ¡°¡­By my ancestors.¡±


    Jerl followed his gaze. Far away, out among the cloud sea, an ocean of flame was boiling silently in the sky, curling in on itself as it drifted in exactly the same way as a titanic smoke ring might. One by one, they moved to the rail to watch it, too slack-jawed and stunned to speak.


    Jerl became aware of a faint ticking beside him. Amir had produced his pocket watch and was holding it. his lips moved silently in calculation as he counted down the seconds, then minutes, until at last¡­


    What hit them wasn¡¯t anything so pedestrian as noise. There had never been such a thunder in all the worlds¡¯ history, Jerl was sure of it. Sound so solid it felt like a hefty slap on the back slammed through him, then was gone and past, leaving behind only a dull infernal roar as it raced onwards, surely to be heard and wondered at all over the nested worlds, perhaps to bounce and echo for hours.


    ¡°¡­Caernnenas¡¯ wrath,¡± Whisker muttered.


    ¡°Yeah.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t suppose we¡¯re lucky enough that was Civorage, was it?¡±


    Jerl shook his head. ¡°Every future where they tackle him directly ends badly one way or another, and they know it. Talvi said as much, and I saw it was true for myself.¡±


    ¡°Bugger.¡±


    ¡°I can still feel Civorage out there too,¡± Mouse added. ¡°This was¡­something else.¡±


    ¡°The last time they took action directly against anyone led to the creation of the Nornfey,¡± Amir pointed out. ¡°I can certainly understand why they don¡¯t do it often. Somebody must have truly irritated them.¡±


    ¡°Heh! Let¡¯s hope it was those Ordsiwat bastards,¡± Derghan chuckled. ¡°That¡¯d fuckin¡¯ brighten my day, sure enough.¡±


    Jerl nodded, and watched as dense cloud enshrouded the distant flame, until finally it faded from view. It felt like an opportune moment. ¡°¡­Right. Well. Suddenly this feels like exactly the right time to head out. Let¡¯s make preparations, aye?¡±


    He turned and looked back inland toward the inn and its gardens. Sinikka was never difficult to pick out, nobody else was as white as paper. She, like everyone else on the island, had dropped what she was doing and watching the distant devastation. He stuck his fingers in his mouth and whistled sharply to get her attention, then circled a hand in the air above his head: Round ¡®em up!


    She raised a hand to acknowledge the instruction, and those of the crew who¡¯d seen the communication followed suit. Good. Time on the isle hadn¡¯t dulled them.


    It was a shame to leave, and there was always the worry that the Ordsiwat would come back for revenge. But what was Jerl going to do, retire here? No. He didn¡¯t even need to glance down that timeline to know he¡¯d be dooming the world to a fate rather more complete than slavery.


    The only way forward was Il?yede. He wasn¡¯t sure what was going to happen there, or who they were going to meet, but that was frankly alright. It would have been maddening to know everything before it happened. He¡¯d have felt like he had no choice or influence at all.


    Which was why, when he looked back out at the boiling dark clouds far away across the worlds and wondered what had happened, he felt a smile come on. There were still mysteries. The worlds were still spinning on and things were happening without him having to drive them. He might have taken on an important mantle without ever wanting or meaning to¡­but the worlds didn¡¯t revolve around him alone. It was a comforting thought.


    He savored the sensation of normalcy for just a moment longer, then traded a smile with Mouse, clapped Derghan on the shoulder, and set to work.


    They still had a long flight ahead of them.


    <hr>


    It wasn¡¯t a completely easy departure. Jerl had, of course, found the time to meet with his crew and tell them the full story. Some hadn¡¯t believed him, others had been profoundly disturbed by the idea they¡¯d all died in that first timeline. Most had said some variant of ¡¯that¡¯s the weirdest story I ever heard, but thank you for telling me¡¯ and then reasoned that they¡¯d rather part ways at an actual airship port, if they parted ways at all.


    Four requested to stay on with the Isle and go wherever it took them. Jerl tried his best to talk them into staying on, but in the end he couldn¡¯t blame them one bit. One was a family man quite reasonably not interested in getting tangled up in an adventure that had already gotten him killed once in a different history, one was rapidly falling madly in love with one of Cerkos¡¯ nieces, and the last two were just convinced their skipper had popped his bag and didn¡¯t want to stay on with a madman.


    Jerl could tell he was going to lose a few more at Mehoom, but such was the price of honesty. The lads were ordinary working men just looking to get by in life, none of them had signed up for the weirdness now dropping on them from such a great height.


    Gebby, Marren and the twins entirely failed to surprise him by stoutly declaring they were staying on come what may. In Marren¡¯s words, ¡°I wouldn¡¯t walk away if you paid me to, skipper. This shit¡¯s interesting!¡±


    Jerl gave the leavers all the pay they were owed plus a small bonus for the trouble, and parted ways with no hard feelings.


    Parting with Cerkos went the other way. The Isleman was understandably eager to have the two superhuman fighters around (He¡¯d forgotten about Mouse, of course) to protect his family in case the Ordsiwat came back. Jerl sympathized of course, but held firm. In the end, Cerkos gave him a bottle of the family¡¯s excellent apple brandy as a keepsake, and promised there would always be welcome for Jerl and the Queen¡¯s crew on this isle, if they should somehow ever cross paths again.


    After that¡­


    The Cavalier Queen lurched a little as she slipped off the mooring cradle and wallowed a little more on the bag. Jerl smiled at that heavy, full-bellied feeling of having a storeroom full of provisions under his feet, and stood waving on the quarterdeck until the isle was out of sight.


    They¡¯d travelled a long way during their time with the Islemen. So far in fact that he could now see all of Alakbir looming low in the sky but definitely above now. The Isle had carried them several degrees around the worlds¡¯ arc.


    Il?yede was higher still in the opposite direction. The familiar roughly triangular shape, one side slighty concave and the other slightly convex so the whole earthmote bent around like an overlarge comma. The smallest and least populous of the three major Sayfi earthmotes¡­and, if Sin was to be believed, the one place in all the Worlds where they would enjoy both an escape from the Oneists, and the presence of allies.


    Speaking of whom, he could hear the sound of a guitar from up on the forecastle. Sin¡¯s little ritual for leaving port, that she¡¯d been compelled to neglect by urgency the last few times. He smiled, and decided to join her for his own traditional good-luck smoke to set the voyage off right.


    Most airshipmen had a leaving port tradition. When you lived or died on the integrity of a bag full of gas and the strength of a bunch of ropes and well-tied knots, a little superstition was no surprise, so Jerl leaned against the rail and thumbed some leaf into his pipe, listening. Apparently she¡¯d first picked up the instrument a hundred years ago, and though he¡¯d never heard her try to sing, Sin had a way of finding slow, lazy chords that felt like travel, somehow.


    Her heart clearly wasn¡¯t really in it today, though. He¡¯d barely had time to settle in before she made a dissatisfied noise and stopped playing.


    ¡°¡­You alright?¡± she asked.


    Jerl nodded. ¡°Yeah. Guess your mind¡¯s on something else right now, huh?¡±


    ¡°Feeling¡­troubled.¡± She strummed a half-hearted chord, then sighed and set the instrument aside for the moment. ¡°The last time the Crowns raged like that, it left us with the Nornfey. I wonder what new horror they¡¯ve just added to the world this time.¡±


    Jerl frowned as he puffed the bowl up to a nice cherry glow. ¡°You have a complex relationship with them, huh?¡±


    ¡°If you were in my position, I daresay you would too, nay?¡±


    ¡°I suppose. But new horrors?¡±


    Sin shrugged. ¡°Maybe. Between the Shades and the Nornfey and¡­and myself, and what all my people became, I suppose I think the Four are just as stumbling blind as the rest of us. Every action of theirs seems to come with an unanticipated cost, nay?¡±


    ¡°What do you think they did?¡±


    ¡°Oh, I don¡¯t think it¡¯s an accident it happened so soon after the Ordsiwat Set picked a fight with you, mellwan.¡± She turned her gaze out toward the distant dark stormclouds where whatever the Crowns had done still bruised the sky. ¡°If that was Ekve and his followers, they¡¯re probably going through what Talvi did to me, now.¡±


    Jerl frowned, trying to figure out if she sounded glad, upset, vindicated, afraid¡­there was a lot of subtle emotion gently vibrating the foundations of her voice. She hadn¡¯t actually explicitly told him what Talvi had put her through, and he wasn¡¯t sure he wanted to know for certain. His guesses were daunting enough already. Anything that could harrow a monster like the Laughing Death enough to turn her into the woman he knew and trusted was¡­daunting.


    ¡°Well¡­if that¡¯s the case¡­I mean, you turned out okay,¡± he pointed out. ¡°I don¡¯t see any terrible consequences in your case, at least.¡±


    Her only reply was an old look.


    Jerl scoffed. ¡°Aside from the fact you¡¯re a moody bitch.¡±


    Finally, a hint of humor cracked her face. She folded her arms and looked away from him. ¡°¡­Asshole.¡±


    ¡°Love you too, big sister.¡±


    She sighed, hung her head and shook it, but she was smiling now. ¡°¡­You know what I envy about humans? You love and let go so easily. You and, um¡­whatsisface¡­.¡±


    If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    ¡°Mouse.¡±


    ¡°Right. Fuck, forgetting like that is unnerving. But yeah, you two seem to have got close real quick.¡±


    Jerl shrug-nodded. ¡°Surprises and all.¡±


    ¡°Heh, yeah. Nearly had me fooled, too. But there¡¯s no fooling this nose.¡± She tapped it wryly. ¡°But what about you? You don¡¯t mind? I thought you preferred men.¡±


    Jerl shrugged. ¡°Mouse is man enough for me.¡±


    ¡°And there it is. That¡¯s it exactly. You¡¯re so quick. Me¡­¡± She looked out to the sky again. ¡°¡­Bekhil and Ekve were lovers for two thousand years. And even after all this time and all these lives and coming to hate everything we were and did, I can¡¯t quite shake it off. The thought of Ekve going through what I went through at Talvi¡¯s hands¡­it hurts, nay? I wouldn¡¯t wish her punishment on anybody. Least of all somebody I loved for so long.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯d rather they kept on being a monster?¡±


    ¡°No¡­but there are consequences to making the world a better place, Jerl. It pushes back, and all too often what you end up doing is like trying to flatten bubbles in the wallpaper. You smooth one down, and it just pops up somewhere else, or merges to form a big one.¡±


    ¡°Should that stop us from trying?¡±


    ¡°No. But¡­it should make us pause and think. And I think that¡¯s why the Crowns are so slow to act. I guess what I¡¯m worried about now is if they decided to act hastily, without thinking things through enough. Things like them¡­when they make mistakes, they make big fuckin¡¯ mistakes, nay?¡±


    ¡°How often do they really make mistakes, though?¡± Jerl wondered.


    ¡°On current evidence? More often than I¡¯d like.¡± Sin shrugged, and picked up her guitar again. ¡°I don¡¯t know. I¡¯m of two, three, five minds about the Crowns. Some days I love them for this life and for the redemption Talvi gave me, other days¡­they remind me just how powerful they are. And then I remember that the greater the power, the worse the consequences of misusing it.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re old enough to know that.¡±


    ¡°Maybe. But when it comes to this world and its own unique challenges, they¡¯re exactly as old as I am. And I fuck up all the time.¡±


    Jerl barked out a small ¡°heh!¡± and sat back to relax. ¡°Is it odd that I find that thought comforting?¡±


    ¡°You find it comforting that the gods make mistakes?¡±


    ¡°Certainly makes me feel better about my own mistakes.¡± Jerl shrugged. ¡°You¡¯d prefer perfection?¡±


    Sin sighed and turned one of the tuning pegs slightly, twanging a string. ¡°If they were perfect, I wouldn¡¯t have any doubts. As it is, Talvi¡¯s fallibility will always be a source of¡­uncertainty. Did she really do the right thing by me? Was she too soft? Was she too harsh? What if I¡¯m the wrong person now, and the world would somehow be a better place if I was still the Laughing Death?"


    ¡°I don¡¯t see how it could be.¡±


    ¡°Me either. But the question gnaws at me anyway. Not, very much, or often. But at times like these¡­O feyen, advatem ki tred hako vayolir.¡±


    Jerl concentrated. She¡¯d been teaching him Feydh since he was fifteen, with mixed success. It was a simple enough language to learn the basics of, but capable of endless subtlety if the speaker really wished it. Sin wasn¡¯t usually one for wasting time with needless complexities, though.


    ¡°¡­For elves, the future is a path you all must tread,¡± he translated.


    ¡°Mhm. But for humans, the future is a gift you leave to other people. Sometimes I envy you for that, I imagine it¡­cushions you, somewhat. From your anxieties. You won¡¯t live to see the truly long-term ramifications of your folly.¡±


    ¡°Whereas you¡¯ll inevitably have to sleep in the bed you made. I get it.¡± Jerl put an arm around her and gave her a squeeze. ¡°But that¡¯s not entirely fair on humans. We do want to leave a good world for our children and successors. ¡®The great plant trees whose shade will never cool them.¡¯¡±


    Sin hugged him back. ¡°Sure. But that¡¯s an ideal. It¡¯s not direct.¡±


    ¡°I thought each life was its own? Like, what was your name in your previous chal?¡±


    ¡°I was Romon Cradhcan Bekhil.¡±


    ¡°Sounds masculine.¡±


    ¡°Mhm. I was a man in that life.¡±


    ¡°Were you hot?¡±


    She laughed. ¡°I pride myself that I¡¯m hot in every life, thank you!¡± She thumped her knuckles into his chest by way of a minor chastisement, then sat back again. ¡°But¡­oh yes. I was nearly as big as you, and dark brown as walnut. I had the set¡¯s sooth tattooed on me in white ink. I was¡­pretty damn striking. Didn¡¯t live too long, though.¡±


    ¡°Why, what happened?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a little embarrassing.¡± She grimaced. ¡°The man I was pledged to was a Betlender barge merchant. You know those ones who carry goods across the Blue Sea and up the Heigh?¡±


    ¡°Sure.¡±


    ¡°Well¡­the barge sunk halfway across the Blue.¡±


    ¡°Ooh. Bad luck.¡±


    ¡°Yup.¡±


    ¡°Guess that explains how you know what drowning feels like.¡±


    She shrugged. ¡°I must have died just about every way there is. Though, not often from old age and disease. Chal-an-chal means it¡¯s usually violent deaths, or accidents. I¡¯ve probably drowned¡­half a dozen times? Been stabbed and cut up more times than I care to think of, and when humans invented guns, oh yes, that took a while to adjust to. I¡¯ve even been executed a few times, those were interesting.¡±


    ¡°Interesting,¡± Jerl echoed, flatly.


    ¡°Mhm. I don¡¯t recommend decapitation, by the way. It hurts a lot more than humans assume it would. And hanging is the worst. Garroting is alright though, you just sort of feel dizzy and then you fall asleep.¡±


    ¡°How did this conversation get so morbid all of a sudden?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know. It¡¯s funny, we¡¯ve known each other all these years, and I¡¯ve always held my cards quite close to my chest, nay? But now¡­¡±


    ¡°I suppose once your biggest secret comes out, there¡¯s no reason to keep the little ones.¡±


    ¡°True enough¡­¡± She strummed an idle chord. ¡°¡­Do you want to know the best way to die?¡±


    Jerl frowned at her. ¡°Sin, I think your Laughing Death is showing.¡±


    She shook her head vigorously. ¡°I just mean, as a friend, if I can spare you some suffering¡­well. There¡¯s a lot of suffering in the world. And if what you told me about the power of the Word is true, how you left yourself the ability to step back in time at the moment of your death and do things differently, well, then you¡¯re in something like an elf¡¯s position. You might suffer the sting of a mortal wound a few times before this thing is done, without the peace of limbo to wash it away. I¡¯d like it if you didn¡¯t find it too traumatic, so¡­I thought maybe I¡¯d share some insights.¡±


    ¡°Hmm. I appreciate the sentiment, but no thanks.¡± Jerl blew a smoke ring and watched it vanish astern.


    ¡°As you wish.¡±


    They sat in silence for a time. Jerl rested his head and listened to the sounds of his ship: the rush of wind over the bag and through the ropes, the creak of cables and wood, the sounds of his crew playing dice on the deck, preparing the galley, doing the many small tasks that kept a ship in the sky and orderly. Sin played her guitar a little while, a gentle travelling song that Jerl knew the words to but didn¡¯t feel like singing along with, for the time being. He just smoked, and enjoyed the peaceful moment.


    And then, moment enjoyed, he turned his thoughts to the job before them again.


    ¡°So, I¡¯ve been thinking.¡±


    She nodded, though she didn¡¯t stop playing. ¡°Same. What¡¯s your thought?¡±


    ¡°That meeting the R¨¹wyrdan Set isn¡¯t a plan in its own right. We need an idea beyond that, we need to start figuring out how we can gain ground on Civorage and oppose him."


    ¡°Gathering allies is part of that.¡±


    ¡°Allies who fall victim to his will at the first glance aren¡¯t allies at all,¡± Jerl pointed out. ¡°Right now, there¡¯s only two people in the worlds that Civorage can¡¯t turn into a puppet. And I don¡¯t think Mouse and I can finish this fight alone.¡±


    ¡°¡­I don¡¯t think I entirely like where this is headed, but go on.¡±


    ¡°I think we need to dig up more Words.¡±


    ¡°And that confirms it.¡± She stopped playing and set the guitar aside again. ¡°Jerl, we got fantastically lucky that the power of the Words is in your hands. You I trust implicitly. Mouse, I can barely remember to know whether to trust him.¡±


    ¡°You trust Derghan, don¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°I suppose.¡±


    ¡°But?¡±


    She remained silent for several long seconds. ¡°¡­But nothing.¡±


    ¡°Sin, come on. Talk to me.¡±


    ¡°No, that¡¯s just it. The idea makes sense. He¡¯s a good man, dependable, solid, far cleverer than he likes to pretend and if I was willing to love anybody, I¡¯d love him.¡±


    ¡°You do love him, Sin. Don¡¯t wrap it up in thin paper and pretend we can¡¯t see it.¡±


    ¡°Well maybe that just implies my judgement in this case is compromised,¡± she retorted. ¡°He¡¯s a good man and I¡¯m¡­I am very fond of¡­.you¡¯re right, I do.¡± She sighed and glanced over her shoulder, belatedly checking nobody could overhear.


    ¡°I¡¯d trust him with it. Why wouldn¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not about trusting him. It¡¯s about¡­he¡¯s already lost and given up so much. I want to protect him.¡±


    ¡°From what?¡±


    She gave him a patient look. ¡°Jerl, even if we win, do you really think there¡¯s any going back for you and¡­uh¡­Mouse? You¡¯re not really naive enough to believe normalcy is an option for you any longer, are you?¡±


    ¡°Is it an option for anyone around us, now?¡±


    She made the disgruntled noise of one who didn¡¯t like his suggestion one bit, but couldn¡¯t think of a good argument against it. Eventually, she shook her head and gave up. ¡°You¡¯re the boss. And I suppose any direction is better than none. Just¡­be careful. Mind already twisted one man into something terrible, and made another impossible to remember. Mouse could get away with anything and no-one would remember he even exists to suspect him.¡±


    ¡°I trust Mouse.¡±


    ¡°Good. I hope he¡¯s worthy of it.¡±


    ¡°He will be,¡± Jerl predicted. ¡°But you¡¯re right, the Words demand caution, and and I¡¯m not planning on letting anybody else touch Mind. Pretty sure Mouse isn¡¯t either. And Time is gone. So the challenge in front of us is finding new words, before Civorage can.¡±


    ¡°Where do we even start?¡±


    ¡°We go to the very beings who first hid them away. We go to the Crowns.¡±


    ¡°¡­Which one?¡±


    ¡°Sayf. But first, we go to the R¨¹wyrdan, because the crew didn¡¯t sign on for this shit and I¡¯ve no right to ask it of them. Most will leave, I think, and we¡¯re going to need replacements who fully understand what we¡¯re doing and are willing to go through hell in the pursuit of it. I can think of no better starting place than a tribe of penitent elves.¡±


    ¡°Nor I,¡± she agreed.


    ¡°Alright.¡± Jerl stood and stretched. ¡°I¡¯ll be in my cabin. You have the watch.¡±


    ¡°I have the watch, aye aye.¡±


    Jerl nodded and strolled away back toward his cabin. He had paperwork and thinking to do, and a long voyage to settle in for. Even so, Sin¡¯s worries stuck with him a little. He paused at the cabin door and looked out toward the distant bruise in the sky once more. It would probably have faded entirely in another hour or two, but for now, he could still see the signs of the Crowns¡¯ terrible work.


    He wondered briefly if Sin was right. What consequences might follow from such an act of destruction? Were they just blundering along as uncertainly as him? If so¡­perhaps the chance to speak with Sayf would yield more than just guidance.


    He watched the clouds a moment longer, then returned to his work.


    Those were questions for later.


    <hr>


    <blockquote>


    ¡°The Order of the Rose honours Prince Sayf, and is awarded to those who give service to the artistic pursuits, such as composers, artists, singers, dancers and poets. It is also often awarded to the ladies-in-waiting of the most senior women of the ducal household, for services to their graces¡¯ beauty and fashion. The order¡¯s ranks are Knight/Dame (OR), Knight/Dame Celebrant (COR) and Knight/Dame Sublime (SOR). ¡ªAton d¡¯Traffe, The Knightly Orders of Garanhir


    </blockquote>


    <h2>Lendwick House Salon</h2>


    Auldenheigh, Enerlend, Garanhir Earthmote 09.05.15.12.11


    Dancing could be a welcome escape from politics, which was why Ellaenie preferred the lively ones. Swirl, weave, take hands, turn about, pass through¡­the sheer joy of movement was such a good way to blow out the cobwebs after so much prosaic small-talk.


    And that was the point of course. A little exercise to settle the mind, then some slower dances to rest the body and facilitate conversation again.


    Lord Betrem Telliker, she was delighted to confirm, was easy and relaxed. There wasn¡¯t a trace of the anxiety that had once driven him to obnoxiousness, and although his compliment¡ª¡°You dance beautifully, your grace,¡±¡ªwas entirely the expected thing, he seemed like he meant it.


    ¡°I¡¯m glad I am doing well enough to seem so,¡± Ellaenie replied as they circled each other. ¡°My tutor despairs of me.¡±


    ¡°Tutors always do, in my experience.¡±


    ¡°Are you sure? I cannot imagine your dance tutor can find anything to criticize.¡±


    ¡°Somehow, he manages. And my music teacher claims I have the singing voice of a frog.¡±


    ¡°Oh, that is hardly an insult is it?¡± Ellaenie objected, already amused. ¡°I rather like the sound of frogs at night!¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t think I quite support the note as well as they do,¡± he replied, and made a gesture evocative of his throat ballooning up hugely above his collar. The absurd image almost reduced Ellaenie to a fit of the giggles on the spot, and it took her several seconds to regather her composure.


    ¡°¡­No, no I imagine you do not,¡± she agreed, somehow managing to maintain a straight enough face. Betrem had an unexpectedly humorous twinkle in his eye, and the dance progressed through a series of slow partner-swaps before they could return to their conversation.


    ¡°If you will permit me¡­I wished to apologize to you,¡± he said as they reunited.


    ¡°Whatever for?¡±


    ¡°For being a witless clod last we met. I shudder to remember it.¡±


    ¡°Oh, I¡¯m sure I was awful to you in ways I did not even notice,¡± Ellaenie demurred. ¡°Nobody can be blamed for youthful inelegance, can they?¡±


    ¡°Perhaps not, but whatever your misbehaviours to me may have been, I do not remember them.¡±


    ¡°I...would be a most terrible liar if I did not acknowledge I left with quite a poor opinion of you,¡± Ellaenie admitted. ¡°But you seem to have redeemed yourself quite handsomely.¡±


    ¡°Oh, I knew I had been a dreadful cad from the end of the first day, and by the time you left I had come to quite despise myself.¡± Bertrem revealed. ¡°My father took me aside afterwards, and imparted to me the thought that a gentleman must always be his own worst critic, and always be working to improve. I have endeavored to live by those words ever since.¡±


    Ellaenie didn¡¯t have time to reply to that, as the dance called for another separation. She didn¡¯t even notice who she swapped to and circled with: instead, she was focusing the witch-sight to get a proper measure of him.


    It was exactly as E?rrach had cautioned her. His mind really was cage-shaped, a wrought iron edifice within which he held the perverse, cowardly creature that was simultaneously drawn to her and afraid of her. It pulled his eyes toward her figure, face and eyes, it shook at the bars and howled at how wonderful she smelled, but at the same time cringed in terror at the mere thought of her least disapproval.


    The bars were strong, though. They didn¡¯t rattle in the slightest.


    And Adrey thinks men are simple.


    ¡°Well, whatever may be in our past,¡± she assured him as the dance brought them back together. ¡°this reunion has been nothing but pleasure.¡±


    He actually blushed. She watched him glance inward, consult himself and a mental effigy of his father, then reach a conclusion. He cleared his throat. ¡°I am glad. Perhaps we might¡ª¡±


    ¡°Your grace!¡±


    Ellaenie turned. Gilber Drevin was at her elbow, having appeared there as silently and darkly as a bat, and looking quite out of place in his plain blue coat and brown weskit. A moment¡¯s eye contact was enough to convey that something was terribly wrong.


    Ellaenie lowered her voice. ¡°Gilber? What happened?¡±


    He offered her his arm. ¡°I need to get you out of here right now, your grace.¡±


    ¡°I¡ªoh. Lord Telliger, please forgive me.¡±


    He bore his disappointment with great fortitude, took a step back and bowed tightly, raising a hand to his chest. ¡°Not at all, your grace. I hope we shall have the pleasure again soon.¡±


    Ellaenie favored him with a brief smile then took Gilber¡¯s arm and let him lead her briskly away, keeping up the appearance of a happy party-goer just until they were alone enough to whisper, ¡°Alright, what¡¯s happened?¡±


    Gilber¡¯s voice was an urgent hiss. ¡°I just got a message from one of my agents. He saw Nils Civorage leaving Speaker Orwin¡¯s house. He¡¯s coming here.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± Ellaenie hissed back, feeling the bottom fall out of her stomach. ¡°I didn¡¯t even know he was on Garanhir!¡±


    ¡°Nor did I.¡±


    ¡°How is he on the guest list?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡± Drevin cast a paranoid eye around the room. ¡°Maybe he got to your aunt and uncle¡ª¡±


    ¡°No, not Eckard, or Auntie Bren. I¡¯d have felt it.¡±


    ¡°One of their staff, then. Ellaenie, we cannot let him get to you.¡±


    ¡°Gilber, it¡¯s not just me. Half the dukes are here!¡± In her mind, she sent a desperate call to Saoirse. Civorage is coming here!


    ¡°I know. One problem at a time¡­shit.¡± He stopped in his tracks at just the same moment Ellaenie felt a tickle of¡­pressure. An entirely too familiar pressure, the weight of a terrifyingly vast presence nearby. But this one didn¡¯t feel a fraction so wholesome as King E?rrach.


    ¡°He¡¯s here!¡± she gasped. In her mind, Saoirse¡¯s reply was just as terse and tense as she felt: I sense him. Get out, lass. I¡¯ll find my own escape.


    Gilber looked around sharply, then pulled on her arm. ¡°¡­This way!¡±


    Ellaenie hadn¡¯t even noticed the servants¡¯ door he guided her through, so masterfully camouflaged as an ordinary piece of wall. It admitted them into a narrow passage that smelled of unvarnished and unpainted wood. They bustled down it, Ellaenie hitching up her skirts to follow ¡°Lisze and Adrey! If he gets to them¡ª¡±


    ¡°Major Droles is getting them out. For now, we worry about you.¡±


    They emerged into the kitchens. A number of cooks gawped at them in surprise then jumped back from their stations to curtsey: several utensils clattered to the countertop and floor as they were dropped.


    ¡°Carry on as you were,¡± Gilber told them firmly, then pointed at the closest, a girl of perhaps fourteen. ¡°You, which way out?¡±


    The girl bobbed a deeper curtsey and pointed. ¡°Th-this way, milord!¡±


    Ellaenie focused. Her witch-sight was thrumming with the growing, threatening pressure of Civorage¡¯s malign mind far too close by, but there was no hint of the Circle in the girl¡¯s wide, astonished eyes. Good. ¡°Show us,¡± she said.


    Seconds later, they burst out of the servants¡¯ entrance, and nearly got run over by Drevin¡¯s carriage. This being no time for gentlemanly manners, Gilber sprang up into it and reached down to pull Ellaenie up after him, and then they were away, moving at a brisk trot even over the gravel.


    ¡°We¡¯ll need to address the gossip,¡± Gilber pointed out as she settled into her seat. Sure enough, there was a carriage at the front of Lendwick Place, liveried in blue and white, the colours of the Clear Skies merchant guild. ¡°Somebody like you doesn¡¯t flee a party on such short notice without it being the talk of the town the next day.¡±


    ¡°I was taken faint. Lingering ill health from my magical exertions the other day,¡± Ellaenie suggested.


    ¡°Plausible enough, I suppose.¡± GIlber sat back and scowled. ¡°That was much too close¡­¡±


    ¡°Did you feel that power?¡± Ellaenie asked. ¡°I¡¯ve not felt an oppressive mind like that since King E?rrach.¡±


    ¡°Like a thundercloud, yes.¡± Drevin scowled out of the window, then tugged down the blinds. He furrowed his brow and Ellaenie sensed the Craft at play in the way his expression flickered and shifted subtly for a few seconds. ¡°¡­Major Droles and your ladies-in-waiting have been successfully smuggled out through the conservatory. But Thaighn Saoirse is¡ª¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s making her own arrangements,¡± Ellaenie reassured him. ¡°But Gilber, now that Civorage has the run of that party, he can get to half the dukes! He can get to my aunt and uncle!¡±


    ¡°I know. I¡¯m sorry, your grace. I should have foreseen this.¡±


    ¡°Maybe,¡± Ellaenie admitted. ¡°But we¡¯re playing against a dangerous foe, Gilber. He¡¯s going to get the better of us sometimes.¡±


    ¡°Unacceptable, when the stakes are this high.¡± He growled in frustration, then abruptly vented his feelings by punching his own left palm. ¡°I didn¡¯t even know he was in the city! How does a man like him slip my nets?¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re just witches. He has the power of a Word of Creation.¡±


    ¡°¡­That¡­is quite a handicap, it¡¯s true.¡±


    ¡°So what do we do?¡± Ellaenie asked. ¡°If he gets the dukes under his spell and arranges for them to invite him to the Moot, then I can¡¯t avoid him.¡±


    Gilber shook his head, his whole scalp furrowed with worry. ¡°¡­The only thing I can think of is we mustn¡¯t let him have long enough to get to all the dukes,¡± he said. ¡°We need to force the salon to break up. A fire, maybe.¡±


    ¡°That could get people killed!¡±


    ¡°Not ideal, I know. But the dukes would be the first to escape. If I had more time I¡¯d arrange for some ruffians to attack the place, smash some windows, chant some anarchist nonsense. But on such short notice¡­¡±


    Ellaenie rifled her own memory, exerting the Craft and applying it to delve through her mental library. It was a trick she¡¯d been practicing with Saoirse, one which should, once mastered, let her recall everything she¡¯d ever read¡­something in her alchemy textbooks, maybe?


    ¡°What about¡­nitre and sugar? Lots of smoke, without the fire!¡±


    ¡°What nitre, your grace? I¡¯m not in the habit of carrying it with me,¡± Gilber pointed out. ¡°No, I don¡¯t see a good option here that doesn¡¯t involve taking the risk. I¡¯m sorry.¡±


    Ellaenie muttered an unladylike curse. But the time to decide was now, and the consequences for dithering, enormous. If Civorage could draw any of the dukes into his Circle, even one, it would be a grievous blow. For him to have unrestricted accss to the ones at the salon¡­


    ¡°¡­Give the order.¡±


    Gilber nodded grimly, and Ellaenie felt the flicker of his will as he cast his thoughts and instructions to his agents.


    After a second, he looked up. ¡°It¡¯s given.¡±


    Ellaenie heaved a big breath and swallowed around a suddenly dry mouth. ¡°Crowns¡­if anyone dies¡­oh, if Uncle Eckard or Auntie Bren is hurt¡­!¡± her fingers twisted fretfully in her lap. ¡°And if word gets out I gave the order¡ª!¡±


    ¡°It won¡¯t, your grace. I¡¯m the only one who knows you gave it.¡±


    Ellaenie nodded. ¡°¡­And if Civorage gets to you to extract that knowledge and make it public, then all is lost anyway. Right.¡± The thought contained a grim sort of comfort that was in no way comfortable.


    Gilber nodded darkly. ¡°Neither of us can afford to be caught off-guard by him. As for the guests, I ordered my men to make it convincing, but not terribly dangerous. Hopefully, nobody will be hurt.¡± He drummed his fingers on the upholstery next to him for a few seconds, gathering his thoughts, then leaned forward. ¡°But candidly, your grace¡­we need to be prepared for the possibility that this is a battle we cannot win.¡±


    Ellaenie opened her mouth to protest, object, insist he should have more faith, but stopped herself. Much as her spirit revolted at what he¡¯d just said, she knew now was the wrong time to stop heeding Gilber Drevin¡¯s experienced counsel. ¡°I¡­what do you mean?¡±


    ¡°I mean, Civorage¡¯s power is overwhelming. He is here, walking among us, and has a Word of Creation at his command. Any man he meets and speaks with can become his agent if he but wills it. In the face of that¡­¡± Gilber trailed off, clearly unsure what to say. ¡°¡­We need contingencies. If he gets to me, what will you do? And don¡¯t tell me. You need to make that plan on your own. And make it good, because I¡¯m quite sure I could anticipate your first two or three ideas.¡±


    And the fourth and fifth, Ellaenie imagined. A sense of creeping horror was settling on her as she realized just how dangerous their adversary was, and how little they had to oppose him with.


    ¡°¡­I wish you weren¡¯t, but you¡¯re right. He might claim neither of us but still take Auldenheigh and Garanhir. We need to play a longer game,¡± she said.


    ¡°Yes. This is a far more delicate and less balanced situation than any game, your grace. Everone we lose becomes one of Civorage¡¯s assets, but not the other way around. If we aren¡¯t very careful, you will find yourself checkmated by your own pieces.¡±


    ¡°And the Dukesmoot forces my hand. I must be here. So we don¡¯t have the luxury of withdrawing our most valuable assets to a safe remove. Crowns damn it!¡±


    They rode in silence a ways, until Gilber tilted his head and listened to something only he could hear. ¡°¡­It seems the fire was a success. Enough smoke to send everyone scurrying, but Lendwick Place suffered no real damage, and it seems nobody was hurt.¡±


    ¡°Oh, thank goodness!¡± Ellaenie sagged. She wasn¡¯t sure how she could have taken being responsible for an innocent¡¯s death. ¡°The dukes?¡±


    ¡°Evacuated to the embassy manors. Civorage barely even had time to walk in the door before the alarm was raised, and he pretty much immediately stormed back to his carriage and returned to the Speaker¡¯s house. I¡¯d say we thwarted him, tonight at least.¡±


    ¡°A poke in the eye is satisfying, but now his anger might focus and inspire him,¡± Ellaenie fretted. ¡°I can¡¯t help worrying. Saoirse and Rheannach predicted our aggressive response to the riot would provoke an aggressive response in kind, and Civorage coming here in person fits. After tonight, the gloves may have come off entirely.¡±


    ¡°Yes. And the fact is that if he really is so powerful as I fear, merely not being invited to the Dukesmoot won¡¯t stop him. He could walk up to the front gates and instruct the guards to let him in.¡±


    ¡°Crowns. How do we fight this?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know. For now, I think the best we can achieve is slowing him. If we put enough guards and enough locked doors in the way, you can warn the Dukesmoot of the danger he poses as a first order of business. Then, if he does come marching up to the doors, it¡¯ll be evidence backing your claims against him. We¡¯ll have gathered allies, at least. But as for a route to actually ending the threat he poses¡­the only one I can see is to kill him.¡±


    ¡°And that may be easier said than done.¡±


    ¡°Indeed. I don¡¯t know enough about the power he wields. I can¡¯t risk sending a man face-to-face with him. A good marksman at range, maybe? But what if he can sense hostile intent?¡±


    Ellaenie shook her head. ¡°One piece of advice my father gave me, not long before he passed, was that overestimating your enemy is just as bad as underestimating him. Civorage isn¡¯t omnipotent, Gilber. He has weaknesses. We just need to find them.¡± She became aware that he was giving her a complicated look. ¡°¡­What?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m reflecting on how different you are to who you were just earlier this year.¡± He smiled sadly and scratched at his stubbled chin. ¡°I worked a long time with your father, and I miss him terribly. He was a damn good friend, though he never did know I practice the Craft. Still, I was the first to congratulate him on your birth, and the greatest charge he ever gave me was to ensure your safety, even ahead of his. So I feel¡­very responsible for you. I¡¯m afraid of failing you. I¡¯m afraid of failing him. I suppose that fear is making this difficult for me.¡±


    Ellaenie smiled, scooted forward in her seat, and took his hand to hold it warmly between hers. ¡°I¡¯m afraid for you too,¡± she said. ¡°You¡¯re family. And you¡¯ve been my rock ever since they passed. I don¡¯t know what I¡¯d do if Civorage got you¡­but we can¡¯t let it stop us, can we?¡±


    He nodded, the muscles around his mouth twitching as he held his expression tightly under control ¡°No.¡±


    Ellaenie nodded, and sat back again before turning her gaze out the window with a sigh. They were entering the palace grounds now. Up until now, she¡¯d thought of it as a sanctum, but now it was dawning on her¡­just how many servants came and went, and how freely they roamed around the place, through small side corridors and backroom ways, or through the halls if they were about the buisness of the house. Any one could fall under Civorage¡¯s sway. Any one could be the gap in her armor.


    Her thoughts turned to Betrem Telliker and all the other men she¡¯d fancied to meet and be courted by tonight, and she bit back a sudden feeling of both disappointment and stupidity. She¡¯d allowed her happy envy of Rheannach¡¯s and E?rrach¡¯s passion to wrap her up in romantic fantasies. How could she fairly bring any man into her life, now? When she was confronting a danger he couldn¡¯t understand, and couldn¡¯t be allowed to know until he was already endangered by it?


    How could she ever, in good conscience, drag a suitor into peril he couldn¡¯t even knowingly consent to face?


    But for a long second, her heart ached at the thought she would have to confront this fight without a partner of the heart. She had her friends, her mentors, her advisors, her Mother and Beldame. But a lover?


    She would have to do without, it seemed. Gilber¡¯s tearing her away from the dance had been accidentally symbolic.


    ¡®Twas not a silly fantasy, love.


    Ellaenie sighed and relaxed slightly. Saoirse¡¯s touch in her mind still felt normal, like herself. The witch-thaighn had escaped Civorage¡¯s influence. You were silent for so long I was worried.


    The carriage rattled to a stop, and to her astonishment, Saoirse opened the door for her.


    ¡°How¡ª?¡±


    ¡°I cannae turn into a bird like Rheannach, but there¡¯s plenty o¡¯ tricks in this old hag yet,¡± Saoirse¡¯s eyes wrinkled kindly as she helped Ellaenie down. Ellaenie made eye contact with her, bewildered.


    Still me, maiden dear. Saoirse¡¯s thoughts were an amused veneer over a serious core. ¡°But I warned ye, did I not? Ye responded to him so strong, ¡®twas inevitable he would reply in kind.¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t expect him to come in person.¡±


    ¡°Why would he not? Garanhir is important, love. O¡¯ all the earthmotes, this is the one he most needs to rule, if he wishes tae rule all.¡±


    ¡°We should discuss this in private,¡± Gilber pointed out. ¡°We need a response, and a plan.¡±


    ¡°We should,¡± Ellaenie nodded. She cast a wary glance at the gates as they headed indoors, as though Civorage¡¯s blue-and-white carriage might come galloping out of the misty night at any second. What would they do if it did?


    What could they do?


    Well¡­they could put a few locked doors in the way, at least. So, they bustled through the halls, past bewildered palace staff who hadn¡¯t expeected them back yet, and up, up into Ellaenie¡¯s tower.


    She¡¯d changed it quite a lot over the past several months, as her training progressed and as she embraced the Craft over the Art. The result was an eclectic collection. The library was mostly intact, The magestone collection was now relegated to decoration on high shelves, for a start. The shelf that had once borne them now bore Ellaenie¡¯s growing collection of medicinal ingredients, and the matched pair of buck antlers she¡¯d taken as her favorite fetishes.


    Saoirse preferred crow skulls and ram¡¯s horns, while Rheannach wore feathers, but Ellaenie found the antlers fit her, quite wonderfully. They felt like extensions of her arm, somehow. The Art¡¯s literature universally derided fetishes made from animal sources as ¡®polluting¡¯ the energy stored within them, but Ellaenie had come to think of it as more like¡­flavor. Or perhaps the tonic note. The echo of life still resonating faintly within a fetish certainly did change the timbre of magic¡­but once one adjusted to that and worked with it rather than against, a fetish became obviously the superior tool for Craft-magic.


    Just seeing the antlers again made her feel a little more confident. It was like walking into an armory and having a favorite set of swords close to hand.


    Even so, she found herself touching a few black feathers left alongside them on the shelf and sighing. ¡°I wish Rheannach was here.¡±


    ¡°She¡¯ll come in a heartbeat if ye call for her, ye know she will,¡± Saoirse pointed out, settling into her preferred chair by the fire.


    ¡°I¡­I know.¡± Ellaenie sighed. ¡°Do you think we should?¡±


    Saoirse mused on it for a moment, looking out the windowand contemplating the landscape of mist and rooftops beyond. ¡°Truthfully? Though I¡¯d find it comforting to have her near, I dinnae know that she could do any different to us. And ¡®tis likely good to keep her away from Civorage so he does¡¯nae suspect her involvement¡­No. I say we let her have her time an¡¯ joy wi¡¯ her husband. We¡¯ll surely have tae call her soon enough.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s something else too, isn¡¯t there?¡± Ellaenie observeed.


    ¡°¡­Aye, there is. Civorage¡¯s magic is that o¡¯ creation itself. I¡¯m no¡¯ certain if even a Herald is beyond his power. And I would prefer no¡¯ to find out unless we must.¡±


    ¡°Now there¡¯s a dread thought,¡± Gilber prowled the far end of the room with his hands behind his back and his head bowed. ¡°However terrible any of us falling to him would be, for him to subvert a Herald¡­¡±


    Saoirse nodded, equally grim. ¡°King E?rrach would¡¯nae accept it for a second. His wrath would be fierce. And the consequences, unknowable.¡±


    ¡°Then I guess we¡¯re just going to have to keep on missing her.¡± Ellaenie sighed. ¡°¡­What do we do right now?¡±


    ¡°Right now, we perform a ritual.¡± Saoirse stood. ¡°There¡¯s nae a force so strong that ye cannae at least make some preparation for it, which may be the difference between life an¡¯ failure. Somethin¡¯ tae contain ourselves, keep our thoughts between ourselves only¡­¡±


    Ellaenie nodded, rose, and took up her fetishes. ¡°What¡¯s my role?¡±


    ¡°Ye are the supplicant. Lord Drevin, if ye will be the guide, an¡¯ I shall be the crux. Maiden, Brother and Beldame, eh? ¡®Tis close enough.¡±


    Gilber chuckled, dipped his hand into his coat¡¯s inside pocket and produced a handsome clam shell on a leather cord, which he slipped around his neck and tucked under his shirt. ¡°Close enough,¡± he agreed.


    It took a few minutes to set up. There was incense and oils to prepare, burners to light, the circle to draw anew. Ellaenie took her shoes off and left them by the door, along with most of the more refined details of her party clothes. She stood in the middle of the room while Gilber and Saoirse worked around her, chalking out the stave on the floorboards and filling the room with scented smoke. Her job was to remain still, breathe deep, and allow her mind to fall into the magic.


    She drew a thread of it from each fetish and let it knot together in her heart as Saoirse patrolled around the circle¡¯s edge, spinning a cleansing veil. Ellaenie¡¯s anxiety, her fear, the distant feeling of threat faded away as the constant magical background hum of the worlds stilled and settled, like a cup of water after being set down and left to rest. She let the sensation flow out to her fingers, down to her toes, up into the roots of her hair. Magic. Not the cold, sterile, stiff stuff of the Art but as alive and dirty and moving and fertile as good earth, eager to grow into something rather than be chiseled and shaped.


    No wonder she¡¯d struggled so hard at studying the Art. It didn¡¯t fit her nearly so well.


    The music, the beat, seemed to come from nowhere. It was entirely in her head, heard with the soul rather than the ears. It came to her as an irresistible urge to sway, as a pulse that only began in her heart, but extended far beyond it. The first few times she¡¯d done this, it had felt awkward, foolish, embarrassing.


    Her dance with Rheannach had changed that. Now, it would have felt far more foolish to resist what the magic wanted to do. Especially when she spun and felt it fling outward from her to crash against the stave¡¯s walls like water. She felt the moment it reached Gilber, and almost gasped: his energy was so different to Rheannach¡¯s it came as a surprise. Rheannach was a mountain, Gilber was a rock. She was an inferno, he was a coal. She was the very incarnation of divine femininity, he was a mortal man. But it didn¡¯t feel wrong at all. He felt like¡­


    He felt like someone she loved and trusted. And when her feet started drumming out the rhythm of the magic they both felt, he had no trouble following her: he hummed, a steady note at just the right pitch, guided by the energy rather than by thought so that when Saoirse joined in with her bodhran, it all fit together seamlessly, as if they weren¡¯t so much making music as allowing the music that had always lurked behind the noise of the world to be heard.


    As they found it, Ellaenie raised the fetishes above her head as she spun. She was now something like the dynamo in a tinker¡¯s engine, her every movement and breath and step adding power to this spell. She could feel Saoirse¡¯s experienced mind reach out and grab the threads she was spinning, weave them together with purpose. It was protection, counter-charm, a zone of silence. It was a suit of steel around all their minds, built to encourage just as much as to protect.


    But the specifics were not Ellaenie¡¯s to focus on. Her focus was to drive it, to pour the raw power of youth and movement into it until it was complete. Her focus was to lose herself in it until her guide brought her back out.


    And lose herself she did. She¡¯d set out tonight to dance, and though circumstances had conspired to ruin one dance, they had brought her to a different one. One with just as much purpose and which, if she let it, could be just as much fun.


    She smiled, tipped her face to the sky, spread her arms, and fought back with witchcraft.


    <hr>


    <blockquote>


    ¡°Many scurrilous inches of ink have been spent on the subject of how little the Eni-Il?yedu people choose to wear, and it is true their standards of modesty are different to the Garanese norm. But this is a practical concession to the heat and humidity rather than prurience, and what they do wear is so colorful and beautifully made that one¡¯s eye is drawn more to what is worn than what is bare.¡±


    ¡ªPrince Ruber of Valai, My Travels


    </blockquote>


    <h2>Mehoom</h2>


    The Oho¡¯anga grasslands, Il?yede Earthmote, Sayf 09.06.03.08.08


    There was something extra in the air above Il?yede, Jerl thought. But then, that was true of every earthmote. Even the ones that orbited at much the same altitude and ought to have about the same climate differed in subtle ways. The Craenen and his own native Garanhir for instance were quite decidedly different, and Garanhir itself was a good deal hotter and more arid toward the dexter end than the sinister.


    The three major Sayfi earthmotes¡ªAlakbir, Prathardesh and Il?yede¡ªwere all hot, but that was about where the similarity ended. Alakbir was scorched, not just arid but dry as only an endless expanse of sand could be, except where a little water gathered in oases and rivers. Prathardesh was opposite, a land of near-perpetual warm rains and steaming jungle where the humidity turned the heat lethal.


    Il?yede was both, and neither. Somewhere in between those two extremes was a balancing point where the rains came regularly enough to cover the land in lush green, but a dry breeze chased the moisture out of the air before it could simmer. Il?yede was both verdant and comfortable, and safe from Eclipse. It ought to have been the most populous earthmote in all the worlds.


    But if the Ordfey lived on anywhere, it lived on here.


    Not directly, of course. The Ordfey itself had been overthrown here just as everywhere else, but their slave-built monuments, statues and pyramids dotted the entire earthmote, carefully maintained by the humans for thousands of years. Where every other culture of every other land had systematically torn down the empire¡¯s works and symbolically erased them from thought and memory, the Eni-Il?yedu haad painstaking preserved everything they could, as a reminder and warning. And because they remembered, so intensely, what so many others had deliberately forgotten, there was a mistrust of anything that even resembled the Ordfey¡¯s old ways.


    Such as, for example, large cities.


    Mehoom was, by Il?yedu standards, a major settlement and a thriving hub of commerce. To Jerl¡¯s sensibilities, it was a town. His own home city of Antage was far larger, and Auldenheigh would have swallowed Mehoom and barely called it a district. Mehoom itself was entirely dwarfed by the huge, sculpted stone elf-face that loomed over it, carved out of a red sandstone mountain and forever pouting at the world with whorls and stipples of vibrant paint still standing clear and vivid on its cheeks.


    From the air, it was immediately obvious that a large part of the people presently in the city were nomadic visitors, here to trade. The landscape for miles around was dotted with tent circles and campfires, and Jerl could see small groups of people and their animals following well-worn trails into town and back.


    Such was the way across nearly all of Il?yede. The Eni-Il?yedu lived nomadically, and by and large viewed civilization as a trap one must brave from time to time, to be escaped from as soon as one had snatched the treasures with which it was baited. Modest, small cities were a necessary burden rather than the focus toward which their culture worked.


    And so, for all its size and comforts and treasures, Il?yede was sparsely populated. And as the Cavalier Queen came in low over Mehoom¡¯s modest airdock and let down her ropes, Jerl could see no sign of a Oneist circle house anywhere.


    ¡°Engines shut off and fuel pumps drained, skipper¡±


    Jerl turned, dragged from his thoughts as Derghan came to join him while wiping his hands clean on a rag. ¡°Thank you Mister Vargursson. How¡¯s she running?¡±


    ¡°Sweet and clean as you could ever ask for.¡± Derghan grinned and patted the Queen fondly before look up at the Red Face of Mehoom and whistling. ¡°Damn.¡±


    ¡°Impressive isn¡¯t it?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll say. That must have taken lifetimes.¡± Derghan scratched his beard as he considered the huge sculpture. ¡°Skilled work, too. No sign that anyone ever sabotaged it. You¡¯d think generations of miserable slaves would¡¯ve done sloppier work.¡±


    ¡°Nah, see, I remember this. Last time I was out this way with my Dad, I got to hear a storykeeper recount it. The ancient Eni-Il?yedu really did believe the elves were the Crowns¡¯ chosen people. They bought into the Ordfey¡¯s whole doctrine and considered it a noble privilege to be chosen for an elf¡¯s plaything.¡±


    Derghan pulled a face. ¡°The past is a fuckin¡¯ weird place, huh?¡±


    Jerl shrugged. ¡°The present¡¯s pretty fuckin¡¯ weird too.¡±


    ¡°True enough¡­¡± Derghan agreed. His eyes were still scanning the city, and apparently he was impressed. ¡°I gotta say¡­Mehoom¡¯s not what I was expecting.¡±


    ¡°What were you expecting?¡±


    ¡°Fuck if I know, exactly. I heard they don¡¯t wear much on this earthmote, so I guess I figured they wouldn¡¯t know how to build well either. But lookit that stonework! You couldn¡¯t fit a razor in the cracks, I bet.¡±


    ¡°Well, if you think about it, a culture that¡¯s preserved ancient monuments in such good condition for thousands and thousands of years is probably gonna be pretty good at it, right?¡± Jerl had to agree though. Mehoom might not be a large city, but the buildings and streets were a testament to exquisite stonemasonry, in every color and variety of stone one could ask for. The roads were paved in the same ruddy brown stuff the Red Face was carved from, but the buildings gleamed white in the sun, and those of them that had tiled roofs showed off a veritable mineral rainbow.


    The message, if indeed there was a conscious message, seemed to be if one must have a city, then it should be small but wondrous. Or perhaps Mehoom itself was an Ordfey monument?


    A new voice joined them at the rail. ¡°Bag¡¯s heavy, skipper. The tower has us.¡±


    ¡°Thank you, Mister Marren.¡± Jerl nodded his gratitude.


    Andony Marren leaned on the rail as well, his work temporarily done. ¡°Wondered if I¡¯d ever see that big head again,¡± he commented, tipping his brow toward the Red Face.


    ¡°You¡¯ve been here before?¡±


    ¡°Once, while I was working for Captain Ollender on the Blue Belle. Nice city to look at from the air, but a dull place for shore leave.¡±


    ¡°Dull?¡± Derghan asked.


    ¡°There¡¯s not one decent pleasure house anywhere in that lot,¡± Marren explained, gesturing vaguely to the beautiful buildings before them. ¡°For folks who don¡¯t wear aught but paint and beads, they¡¯re oddly prudish. And their music is so¡­solemn.¡±


    Jerl chuckled. ¡°You¡¯re thinking like an Urstlender, Andony.¡±


    He shrugged. ¡°What can I say? I grew up surrounded by flowers, honey and people who love life. Each to their own of course, it¡¯s their land and their rules. But I say any place you can¡¯t buy a little good company after a month aboard ship is hardly worth the visit. Now, away up the other end of the mote you''ve got Arthenun Il?yeda, that''s the place to be. It''s everything this place ain''t, like the Eni-Il?yedu crammed all their brothels, bars and gambling halls into one city to keep ''em out the way. Bloody paradise, I tell ''ya.¡±


    ¡°Heh!¡± Derghan chuckled. "You''re gonna get a terminal case of cockrot one day, Andony."


    ¡°Worth it. The beer here is good, though,¡± Marren conceded. ¡°They put honey, dates and spices in it.¡±


    ¡°Sounds nice.¡±


    Jerl nodded. ¡°Well, we¡¯re not staying long. Just long enough to get an idea of where the R¨¹wyrdan Set might be. So, dull shore leave won¡¯t be an issue.¡±


    Marren nodded, glanced over his shoulder to check how the bag was faring as the ground crew winched them down into the cradle, then leaned in to lower his voice. ¡°So this is where we¡¯ll be letting them as want to leave step off, I take it,¡± he said.


    ¡°Yup,¡± Jerl agreed. ¡°How many are we losing?¡±


    ¡°All the family men, the guys who¡¯ve only been with for this one season, Wilks and Ledzer¡­.about half the crew, all told. Me an¡¯ the twins are staying on, so¡¯s Gebby.¡±


    Jerl nodded, honestly quite gratified at how many were staying. ¡°Well, I¡¯ll make the formal announcement after we¡¯ve found the elves. You won¡¯t have an issue working alongside them will you?¡±


    ¡°Far from it. If Miss Sinikka¡¯s anything to go by they¡¯ll more¡¯n pull their weight, especially in a fight.¡±


    ¡°Assuming they agree to it,¡± Derghan pointed out.


    ¡°Chal-an-chal," Jerl said. "These guys are penitents, they¡¯re looking for a chance to do some good and pay for their old evil. Why d¡¯you think the Eni-Il?yedu even tolerate them? Of all the people in all the worlds, these are the folks who most remember what the Ordfey was like.¡±


    ¡°Mm.¡± Marren straightened up. ¡°Alright, well, I¡¯ll let them as plan on leaving know they¡¯ll have to sit a touch longer.¡±


    ¡°Thank you, Andony.¡±


    As Marren went to pass along the news, Derghan leaned closer to Jerl. ¡°I have a question.¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Traveling all over the worlds, feeding the crew and fuelling the Queen isn¡¯t going to suddenly get cheaper just ¡®cuz we¡¯ll have elves on board, even if they don¡¯t draw a wage,¡± he pointed out. ¡°How exactly are you planning on funding this big adventure?¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re still a merchant. In fact, last I checked we still have half a hold full of furs, whisky and wood, and a coffer full enough to buy new cargo. And seeing as chasing leads is going to involve traveling all over the worlds anyway¡­¡±


    ¡°Business as usual? Valkyr¡¯s arse, that¡¯d be nice.¡±


    ¡°What do you call the last two months?¡± Jerl asked.


    ¡°Running. Looking over our shoulders. Watching part of the fucking sky explode¡­and I¡¯ve had this nagging feeling for days now like there¡¯s something I¡¯m forgetting¡­¡±


    He almost jumped out of his skin when Mouse tapped his elbow and said. ¡°Me, maybe?¡±


    ¡°Crownshit! Fuck! Yes! You!" Derghaan shook himself with an irritated snarl. "You enjoy that far too fuckin'' much!¡±


    ¡°Yup.¡± Mouse shot him a brilliant grin and leaned up against Jerl, before looking over the rail. ¡°Shit, I guess what they say about the Eni-Il?yedu is true. Those guys are really fuckin¡¯ naked, huh?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s their way,¡± Jerl agreed. Actually, the crew of men hauling on the ropes down below were all wearing a small cloth to keep everything contained and controlled, but that, Jerl knew, was just a practical concession to workplace safety and the foibles of foreigners. Back in Cantre, they¡¯d certainly have been called naked. And over in the Yunei Empire, they¡¯d have been executed for public immorality. But modesty was a function of culture, not a universal constant, and as Marren had noted there were things the Eni-Il?yedu were extremely modest about that were much more relaxed back home. They wore practically nothing by habit, but were otherwise remarkably buttoned-up.


    Different knots for different ropes.


    Mouse shot a cheeky grin up at him. ¡°So. You gonna go native?¡±


    Jerl smirked and shook his head. ¡°You can if you want to.¡±


    ¡°Heh! No thanks.¡±


    There was a solid sound as the keel finally met the cradle, a few more rope pulls brought the Queen firmly down into position, and the locking bolt was driven across to pin her in place. The docking tower creaked slightly as the ground crew tied off their ropes, and their voyage was, at last, complete.


    Jerl turned away from the rail. ¡°Alright. Mouse and I are going to track down a merchant and the R¨¹wyrdan Set, in that order. Derghan, you help Sin get the goods ready to send ashore once we¡¯ve found a buyer, and remind the lads we still need ¡®em until the elves come aboard.¡±


    ¡°Gotcha.¡±


    ¡°Understood.¡±


    ¡°Alright. Don¡¯t dawdle here. Mehoom¡¯s not big, but all it takes is a single Oneist missionary and Civorage will know we¡¯re here. Let¡¯s get going.¡±


    They nodded, scattered to their respective tasks, and Jerl went to grab the necessary documents, books and coin for the port authority. The time might come soon where he¡¯d have to falsify the Queen¡¯s identity, and Whisker had promised he and Imdura could achieve that. But for now at least¡­


    Well, it just seemed wrong to hide his ship behind a fake name and fake documents. For now, she was still the Cavalier Queen. No matter where she flew and who crewed her.


    He just hoped these elves would be easy to find¡­


    <hr>


    Thirty minutes later, Jerl was reflecting that hoping for a city without Oneists really had been too much to ask. The cult was everywhere, and if not for Mouse¡¯s powers, they would have blundered into the first missionary right outside the air dock.


    She wasn¡¯t a local, at least. She was a Garanese woman, pale skin gone quite red where her wide straw hat and many layers of thin linen weren¡¯t protecting it. She looked miserable, covered as she was in a sheen of perspiration and flakes of peeling nose, but the fervor in her expression was chilling.


    Mouse found her especially hard to look at.


    ¡°It¡¯s like Civorage scooped her out of her own head and replaced her with puppet strings,¡± he muttered as they bustled past. Thanks to his own efforts, the missionary didn¡¯t even glance at them. She just kept waving her pamphlets and calling plaintively.


    ¡°¡ªyou maintain the Red Face, you maintain the memory of that ancient time. You know what the Ordfey was, and you know the Crowns did nothing! For thousands of years, the Four stood aside and allowed human slaves to suffer and die by the million! All those people crying out for salvation, and it fell on deaf, uncaring ears! No more! To be One with the Circle is to have your every prayer heard! You will be known, and cared for, and loved like the brothers and sisters you are¡ª¡±


    ¡­And so on. Honestly, it was persuasive stuff, wrapped in enough truth and aimed so squarely at a real human need that Jerl could see how it would lure somebody in. If they were desperate, hurting, alone, or even if they were just dealing with the ordinary burden of being alive, what harm in checking out just one Circle meeting and seeing what it was about?


    Damn Civorage. He¡¯d had a tremendous insight into what people needed, and rather than do the decent thing and give it to them, he¡¯d used it to bait a wicked hook.


    ¡°Makes my fuckin¡¯ skin crawl,¡± Jerl muttered, reflecting gratefully that at least this missionary only spoke Garanese. Most of the Il?yedu wandering past just gave her an uncomprehending frown and continued on their way, perhaps trading a comment in their own language. Somehow, Jerl doubted their accidental immunity would protect them for long.


    Mouse fidgeted awkwardly with his shirt. ¡°Yeah.¡±


    ¡°You okay?¡±


    ¡°Crowns, Jerl. You ever had that nagging, horrible feeling like somebody¡¯s following you on a dark knight, and they¡¯ll drive a knife into your back if you let them?¡±


    ¡°Occasionally.¡±


    ¡°Well, right now it¡¯s all the time. I can feel him out there, looking for us. In the background, you know? And he¡¯s seething. But that preacher¡­¡± Mouse glanced over his shoulder. ¡°She¡¯s like a lighthouse. Just being near her makes me feel exposed.¡±


    Jerl nodded, and gestured toward a nearby building. A sign written in Il?yedun, Craenen and Garanese proclaimed that an office at the end of the street belonged to ¡®Awolowo & Laird, Imports and Exports.¡¯ ¡°The sooner we sell, find the elves and move on, the better, then,¡± he said.


    ¡°Right.¡± Mouse shook himself and refocused. ¡°Same act as before? I pass beneath notice, feed you insight and hints?¡±


    ¡°Feels a little unfair, but¡­yeah. We need every edge we can get.¡±


    Mouse glanced over his shoulder, back toward the missionary. ¡°¡­Yeah. We really do.¡±


    Jerl nodded, and ducked through the door, pushing his professional merchant¡¯s smile into place as he slid through a rattling bead curtain and into the surprisingly cool space beyond. The office was simple, lined floor to ceiling with shelves and documentation and lit by magestones, which probably explained the pleasant temperature, too: useful magic, that.


    The man sitting behind the desk llooked up, and Jerl saw the way his eyes skipped briefly to Mouse, glazed, forgot, then re-alighted on Jerl¡¯s face and lit into a professional smile. ¡°Welcome! You must be the captain of that merchant brig I saw docking earlier.¡±


    Jerl grinned. Suddenly, he was back in his element. Running from Civorage, sneaking into mansions, stealing Words of Power, fighting elves¡­none of that was who he truly wanted to be. This here, the moment when a captain with a hold full of valuable goods locked horns with an importer who wanted to buy them as cheaply as possible? This was his passion. His professional smile turned into an honest grin, and he stepped forward to shake hands and haggle.


    ¡°That I am,¡± he agreed. ¡°And as it happens, there are two things I hope you can help me with¡­¡±


    <hr>


    Three days later, he was still riding high on the thrill of securing a good deal, and the information he needed. Thanks to Mouse¡¯s help, he¡¯d comfortably shifted all the barrels of spirits at a premium rate, leaving the Queen¡¯s coffers too full to close, even after handing out the crew¡¯s pay and after buying a consignment of Mehooman decorative tiles that should hopefully turn a tidy profit, somewhere.


    More importantly though, they¡¯d found the R¨¹wyrdan.


    As Sin had predicted, the Mehoomans only barely tolerated the elves. Thousands of years of committed penitence weren¡¯t enough to earn any real trust, it seemed, and so the elves were watched closely at all times. When they entered the city, they did so under guard. When they roamed the grasslands and river delta, a number of Mehooman scouts followed them and tracked their movements. It had taken some negotiation and bribery, but Mouse had managed to learn their current whereabouts.


    It wasn¡¯t terribly far. The elves were apparently following a migratory herd of deer-like creatures about two hundred miles trailing-by-sinister of Mehoom. For the Queen that was a short jaunt, which Jerl spent most of chatting with the crew, alternately wishing them best of luck and thanking them for staying on.


    The elves weren¡¯t trying to hide. They had no reason to. Once the column of smoke from their campfire came into view, it was simple to hone in on their collection of tents and animals, and from there the hardest part was a wilderness stop.


    Airships really did need the infrastructure of a dock to be able to set down safely, especially if the captain wanted to fly away again on short notice. Jerl knew from experience that the Queen was incredibly tough, far tougher than he¡¯d given her credit for: her crash-landing in G¨¹l Nornacha had proved she could take a heck of a beating. But why put her through it if he didn¡¯t have to?


    So, instead of even trying to land, he left the ship in Amir¡¯s hands, and went down via rope ladder. By the time his boots crunched dry grass, a party had come out from the village to welcome him.


    Pyrfey could never be mistaken for a human. Human skin all rested on a shared spectrum of tans and browns, of which ¡°black¡± was merely the darkest extreme. Elf-skin, though, was radically different: just as Sinikka¡¯s skin was as entirely, inhumanly matte white as snow, so too was a pyrfey¡¯s skin entirely, inhumanly matte black as charcoal.


    Against that backdrop, the silvery white inks they tattood themselves with stood out like a magestone in the night. As did their intense red and orange eyes, and the decorative metals on their vamdraechi.


    Sinikka landed next to Jerl with a thud, having simply jumped down from the ship. As she did, the approaching elves raised their weapons in a challenge of sorts: she held up both empty hands and flip-flapped them back and forth to show they were empty, then pressed her hands to her own vamdraech, palms inward, and bowed, one leg behind the other.


    The result was curious. There were no smiles, as such, but the mood relaxed greatly. Weapons were sheathed, posture softened. The tall man leading the group approached Sin, and greeted her by gripping her elbows, a gesture she mirrored.


    ¡°Vaya, set-chaer?¡±


    ¡°Vayako tenmellen. Akuki Sinikka Nerissith Bekhil.¡±


    ¡°Bekhil!¡± A complex smile flowered on the spokesman¡¯s face and he drew her in for a hug, while the rest of the group gathered around to say their own hellos, or in one case ran back to the village to share the news shouting ¡®Bekhil! Bekhil menhod!'' The spokesman took a good look up and down, and nodded approvingly. ¡°Kyrsiika, mellwyrd? Akuki Sevise chalen¡­¡±


    Sin¡¯s smile pulled at a flimsy attempt to deadpan. ¡°Nay. Kyrsiikova, Lladri.¡±


    He laughed and pulled a look of mock affront. ¡°Uka wyrd mirddko¡­Ke wight?¡±


    Sin chuckled, and stepped aside to welcome Jerl into the conversation.¡° Jerl Holten, this is Sevise R¨¹wyrdan Lladri, Soothnadhar of the R¨¹wyrdan Set. That¡¯s, uh¡­¡¯truth-keeper,¡¯ which is about as close to a leader or chief as Penitent sets have.¡±


    ¡°Ah. Garanese?¡± Sevise nodded amiably. ¡°I, uh¡­rusty. Think I remember. But has been long time, many chal since I live there.¡±


    ¡°I understand,¡± Jerl nodded. ¡°Hako Feydh e¡­wan.¡±


    ¡°No matter. You have weak Feydh, I have weak Garanese, Bekhil has good both.¡±


    ¡°Sevise has completed his penance,¡± Sin explained. ¡°He doesn¡¯t need to go on the pilgrimage any longer. But, he still lives by the penitents¡¯ Sooth and so he guides the tribes.¡±


    ¡°You tell him all, huh?¡± Sevise asked, giving Jerl a curious look. ¡°First time you tell a Wight about Bomirdd, I think¡±


    ¡°Jerl is¡­special. It¡¯s a long story. Ithmatra gifet ir henko.¡±


    ¡°Ice-mother herself?¡±


    ¡°She didn¡¯t give me the duty, as such,¡± Jerl corrected. ¡°It¡¯s more¡­if I don¡¯t do it, nobody else can. But she was the one who explained it all to me.¡±


    ¡°¡­Is long story, I can see. Come and talk.¡±


    ¡°Gladly. But first¡­one last introduction. This is Mouse.¡±


    Watching Sevise turn, frown, then almost jump out of his tattoos at seeing Mouse waiting patiently behind him was tremendously gratifying. Jerl had no idea what exactly the elvish curse that exploded out of him meant, but it sounded very welcome.


    ¡°Where¡­how did he¡ª?¡±


    ¡°All part of the long story. It involves¡­terrible power, a great evil. And I need as many pilgrims as you can spare to swear chal-an-chal to me.¡±


    Sevise glanced at Sin, who nodded seriously. He frowned a moment, then nodded. ¡°Come. We sit, eat, I listen, I decide.¡±


    ¡°Fair,¡± Jerl agreed, and followed him. He wondered briefly how many more times he¡¯d have to tell his story, and to how many people?


    Well¡­as many as he needed to. The R¨¹wyrdan would be his second allies after the Street Rats, but there would need to be many, many more before they were ready to confront Civorage directly. He could feel the pressure of them in the future, waiting to be met and known. Some of them, he almost felt he could see their faces.


    But, that was for later. Here and now, he had the R¨¹wyrdan to win. So he followed Sevise to the fire, sat, accepted a drink of some kind of tea¡­


    And told his story again.


    <hr>


    <blockquote>


    ¡°We are not made to be lonely individuals. Look through all of human history and you will find families, friend groups, tribes and communities. As a species, humans are defined by other people, by the legacy we leave and by the greater whole to which we belong. The search for personal fulfillment begins with the search for a cause, and reaches its end when we tear down the prison walls we built around ourselves and become one with our circle.¡±


    ¡ªNils Civorage, ¡°The Circle¡±


    </blockquote>


    <h2>Restless sleep</h2>


    Ducal Palace, Auldeneigh, Enerlend, Garanhir Earthmote 09.05.15.12.12


    Ellaenie was not only tired, but also knew perfectly well that she should get a good night¡¯s sleep if she wanted to be sharp and capable for the morrow. She had ducal parties to welcome, Dukesmoot business to plan, meetings with First Baron of Parliament, and first thing in the morning would be a briefing with Gilber. Crowns alone knew how he was going to be sufficiently rested, but then, she¡¯d always wondered that. He seemed to survive on cat-naps and tobacco, while she needed a solid eight hours a night just to get up in the morning. So she did, quite urgently, want to sleep¡­


    But actually falling asleep was proving a different matter entirely.


    Her mind wouldn¡¯t stop grinding away like a millstone, and no amount of breathing slowly, focusing then relaxing her magic, chamomile tea or turning the pillow over to find the cool side was doing a damn thing to settle it. The anxiety had faded to nothing during their ritual, but afterwards it had crept back up on her, and now it was crashing in her ears like a drumbeat.


    Eventually, sheer physical discomfort drove her from between her sheets. She rose, took off her sleeping mask and gestured at the magestone that was always glowing above the bed until the room was fully bright, then stood in the middle of the rug where she pressed her knuckles to her eyes until she saw strange, dark colors. It didn¡¯t help.


    Out the window, the mist that had lingered all night had cleared away, granting her a wonderful view of the city. It was bright tonight, every street lit by magestones on full glow, and Ellaenie vaguely remembered there was an Eclipse predicted for two in the morning¡­


    She glanced up at the small, silent clock on her dresser. Any minute now, then. She took a step closer to the window and looked up, considering the white glow of distant snow on the Unbroken Earthmote, and trying to spot the earthmote that was about to¡ªah. There. Not a large one. A minor mote, perhaps fifty miles wide. It would be past in a couple of hours, and not even make Auldenheigh that dark.


    Still. The moment its course carried it in front of the Sun and the Roil was definite. There was a distinct feeling of darkness, the sense that something wholesome was now occluded¡­


    Ellaenie looked down at the lawn. Out there in the middle, where the palace lights were weakest, a handful of small, skinny black shapes did their best to slip sideways into reality and be.


    A freezing sense of terrible misery and longing washed over her as she watched them, and part of her wondered, as it always did¡­could those be her parents? Or, what was left of them? Did some part of them remember this place as home, where their child lingered? Was there still a fragment of them, somewhere, that still longed to see her, still¡­loved her?


    She hoped not. Let them be truly gone. Let them be dead. Let them be anything but those tortured things out there.


    But Crowns, feeling that sense of terrible, mindless loss made her know it was a futile hope. She turned away from the window, unable to bear the view any longer and¡­


    There were footsteps in the hallway that shouldn¡¯t have been there. One step she recognized, Lisze¡¯s dainty, quiet tap-tap-tap. But Lisze should have been asleep in her own rooms. And the other¡­


    A large man, wearing heavy boots. Nobody in the palace that she could think of matched that description.


    On a surge of intuition and paranoia, she darted to the door and locked it. Then, knowing perfectly well that would not stop a determined man of any real size or strength, she turned to the dresser and thrust her hands toward it.


    Moving an object by magic was just as fatiguing as moving it the ordinary way, and so not usually worth the trouble. But Ellaenie was far more adept in matters of magic than she was in matters of the body, and her will was strong. She dragged the heavy wooden object across the room with a tug of her mind and a grunt of effort, and had it up against the door with a bang and a clatter at exactly the same moment as the unseen figures outside tried to open it.


    ¡°¡­Ellie?¡± Lisze¡¯s voice. ¡°Ellie, are you alright?¡±


    ¡°Who¡¯s with you?¡± Ellaenie asked. Her witch-sight was humming, shrieking at her. She sent a desperate thought to Saoirse, a warning, a plea for help¡­and hoped to goodness she wasn¡¯t panicking over nothing.


    Lisze¡¯s next words drove that possibility out of her mind. ¡°You missed him at the party. He¡¯s come a long way to meet you, Ellie.¡±


    ¡°Lizzy, for Valkyr¡¯s sake, it¡¯s the middle of the night! You¡¯re not in your right mind!¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s important¡­¡± Lisze sounded dreamy, like she wasn¡¯t really hearing or understanding a thing. ¡°It¡¯s really important, Ellie. You¡¯ll be so glad you met him, I promise.¡±


    Ellaenie went to ring the service bell, summon the guards but¡­but no. Too late. They couldn¡¯t do anything, not against¡ª


    ¡°I think your Lady-In-Waiting has done well enough, don¡¯t you Your Grace?¡± The new voice that spoke was deep, urbane, calm and filled her with a terrible chill. It was quite a handsome voice, really. Soft, warm, even kindly. But all those properties that should have made it so soothing instead made Ellaenie feel like ice cubes had rattled down her back.


    Saoirse!


    ¡°Oh, you do have a strong will, don¡¯t you, your grace? That was loud. But the mind is my domain, and everyone else is just a guest. She cannot hear you.¡±


    Ellaenie backed away from the door, calculating furiously. For all his bluster, Civorage had already revealed one major flaw in his power. As beguiling and soothing as he tried to make his voice, she didn¡¯t feel a thing, not a flicker of positive emotion toward him. So long as he couldn¡¯t see her, she was fine.


    She gestured sharply at the curtains to close them, then put herself back to the task of figuring out how to escape from this trap.


    ¡°Besides. What do you imagine an old hag would do to stop me?¡± There was a heavy slamming sound, and a crunch of breaking wood: the door lock broke, and the dresser lurched an inch. Ellaenie rammed it back into place with a stab of will and held it with magic.


    ¡°You can¡¯t keep this up for long, you know,¡± Civorage pointed out, in a voice that was more yawn than threat. ¡°That big, heroic expenditure of magic last week left you quite skinny, I¡¯m told. Quite drained, hmm? I bet you¡¯re already feeling fatigued¡­¡±


    Ellaenie wanted to challenge back that her reserves were deeper than he guessed, but¡­it was true. Just moving the dresser twice was already maching her body ache.


    ¡°There¡¯s nothing to panic over, really,¡± Civorage continued. ¡°To you, this has all been a sudden blitz, hmm? I imagine you can¡¯t believe I would be so brazen. You thought we were in the opening few moves of our little game. But this night has been planned out for a while, little duchess. Your good cousin Duke Maksovar, has been a good friend of mine for months, now. I¡¯ll admit to being irritated by your sudden departure, it seems your spy network is more competent than I¡¯d planned for. But the riot, your public display of virtue, that feeling of a net closing around you that¡¯s been gnawing at you? All planned.¡±


    He chuckled, and Ellaenie heard him lean comfortably against the wall. ¡°Maksovar¡¯s insights were most useful. You¡¯re far too aggressive in the early game and don¡¯t support your attack enough. A winning strategy against an amateur, but I, your grace, am no amateur. I am a master of the mind. And while yours is certainly impressive¡­you don¡¯t have what I have. Now¡­Open The Door.¡±


    Ellaenie nearly obeyed. His will was a sledgehammer blow that left all the protections they¡¯d ritually built around her mind just hours before dented and deformed, but somehow they held. She snatched her hand back just before reaching out and moving the dresser.


    There was a pause. When Civorage spoke, there was a distinct quaver of irritation in his voice. ¡°¡­You impress me. Truly. But there is no escape. Submit.¡±


    Ellaenie staggered, her ears ringing. In an effort to recenter herself, she snarled out the first words she¡¯d said to him. ¡°Fuck you!¡±


    ¡°Oho! Duchess! Such unladylike language!¡± Civorage¡¯s amusement was a ruse, an act. He was unused to being opposed, and it was making him angry now, she could feel it.


    Well¡­it was a slim opening, but an opening nonetheless.


    ¡°Let¡¯s try that again, shall we? Op¡ª¡± Civorage tried. Ellaenie stuck her fingers in her ears and hummed loudly.


    It worked. It was entirely ridiculous, but it worked. She couldn¡¯t hear his command, so she couldn¡¯t be compelled to obey it. But she was buying herself seconds now, she knew.


    Saoirse!!


    Nothing. And she still didn¡¯t know what Saoirse could do, or¡ª


    Civorage finally got fed up. He was a big man, tall and well-built. When he put his shoulder into the door and barged through, he knocked the dresser over violently enough that the door was left wide for him to swagger through. His cold blue eyes were seething with¡­


    Eyes¡­


    Ellaenie felt a splitting headache come on as the full force of his power turned her way and started to melt her defenses like ice under a blowtorch. She retreated to the window, threw up her hands, flung everything she had into trying to push him out of her mind, but she may as well have tried to hold back an earthmote. As desperately as she tried not to, she couldn¡¯t help but stare into his chilling blue eyes and feel herself being drawn out like a loose thread, to be unravelled and rewoven into¡ª


    A four-foot length of solid Craenen bog oak cracked sharply into the back of Civorage¡¯s head. ¡°Get away from ma¡¯ Maiden, ye scunner!¡±


    Civorage staggered and the sensation of being melted away flickered and failed to be replaced by disbelief, shock, fury and umbrage. It almost sparked off the walls, intense enough to drive Ellaenie to her knees, but Saoirse looked him right in the face and swung her walking stick again.


    Civorage fended it off. Ellaenie could feel him fighting not to lose his balance; the blow to the head really had quite badly stunned him. But he was still up, still conscious, and a lot larger, younger and stronger than Saoirse.


    ¡°Hag!¡± he snarled.


    ¡°Beldame,¡± Saoirse corrected him, then raised her walking stick in front of her. The bone fetishes fastened to its top shimmered with power. ¡°I am Thaighn Saoirse Crow-Sight o¡¯ Crae Vhannog. No man e¡¯er born has dominated my will, an¡¯ ye shall¡¯nae be the first!¡±


    Ellaenie had struggled to her feet: the ensuing psychic battle knocked her down again as blood burst from her nose. In the doorway, a wide-eyed and anxious Lisze collapsed in a faint. Above it all, Saoirse¡¯s voice was a shrill thunder as the fetishes on her staff blazed.


    ¡°A hex on thee! May thy victories be sullied, may worst worst foes escape your wrath, may ye ever snatch defeat frae the jaws o¡¯ victory! Wi¡¯ all my power, I curse ye, Nils Civorage! Doom upon all thy works!¡±


    A wave of sheer will blasted the glass from the window frames. Above the bed, Ellaenie¡¯s lightstone spat and blazed bright enough to clear all the palace grounds. Saoirse¡¯s indignant fury raged through the room, and Civorage¡¯s face became a mask of agony as the force of it pushed him a step back.


    ¡°What¡­is this?¡± he groaned.


    ¡°There are powers in this world far deeper an¡¯ more powerful than Mind, foolish boy!¡±


    I love ye, child. Farewell.


    Ellaenie blinked. The thought had been not merely tinged, but flooded with grief, sorrow, pity, warmth¡­and terrible determination. Panic rose in her as she realized what Saoirse meant by it.


    No¡ª!


    But it was too late. With the furious roar of a narcissist knocked down a peg, Civorage surged across the room snatching a wicked three feet of basket-hilted steel from its scabbard, and plunged it into Saoirse¡¯s unresisting, unprotected chest.


    There was a crackle like thunder, a feeling like the world slipping and breaking somehow. The blazing light of Saoirse¡¯s fetishes flickered, faded¡­


    She spat blood in his face.


    ¡­and died.


    All Ellaenie¡¯s hope went with her. Her tears did nothing to impede her view as she watched Civorage lay her friend and mentor¡¯s frail, skinny corpse to the ground, tug the bloody rapier from her, and stand. Sway.


    Turn.


    ¡°¡­Submit.¡± He ordered.


    It was a hammer blow again, and Ellaenie¡¯s defences were gone, her will broken. There was no fight left in her at all¡­


    And yet, something stopped her from falling into him and becoming another slave. Something like a warm hand on her shoulder that pulled her back just before she toppled forward. Something like¡­


    There was a beat, a rushing, soft bloom of air as from an enormous wing. She looked up, and indeed there were wings. Two of them, wider than the whole room, as white and black and iridescent as a magpie¡¯s but mightier than any eagle¡¯s. And between them, with tears of terrible, vengeful grief flooding her cheeks, was Rheannach.


    But this was not the soft, quiet, warm Rheannach whose arms Ellaenie had slept in. This was Raksuul in her war panoply. This was her embodiment of love¡¯s flip side, the power of a broken heart, a spurned love, a protective mother and an avenging widow.


    Civorage turned to face her, his scowl at first deepening before it darkened into a wicked smile. ¡°¡­Even you are lesser to my power, Herald. I wonder what I can do with you?¡±


    Rheannach¡¯s reply, at first, was hateful silence.


    Then she gestured, a sharp swipe of her hand, and Civorage was gone in a twist of blinding power the color of rejection. The several feet of rug, floor and wall around him went too, leaving behind twisted, shattered wreckage.


    She descended through the broken window and her bare feet crunched, unscathed, in the shattered glass. She knelt by Ellaenie, wrapped her in an arm and a wing.


    ¡°Damn it, Saoirse¡­¡± she whispered.


    Ellaenie couldn¡¯t even speak. She buried her face in Rheannach¡¯s feathers and shook, too full of grief and pain and confusion to even think.


    They mourned in silence for a long minute. Ellaenie kept expecting her guards to come running to the huge crash and blast and all the commotion, but none came. There was only quiet, and tears, until finally her thoughts came limping back without order or purpose.


    ¡°Is he¡­did you¡­?¡±


    ¡°No. I sent him away. Far away.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°¡­There will be time to explain later, beloved.¡± Rheannach rose to her feet. ¡°For now, you must leave.¡±


    ¡°But¡­Enerlend. The Dukesmoot.¡±


    ¡°No. He has them. We failed. The only thing he didn¡¯t claim was you, and he cannot claim you.¡±


    There was meaning in her words that Ellaenie could feel and read even through her fatigue and sorrow. There is more at stake through you than just Garanhir.


    ¡°But¡­Saoirse¡­¡±


    ¡°I know. I¡¯ll¡­we¡¯ll tend to her. I promise. But right now, you need to be somewhere else before one of his puppets comes.¡±


    ¡°¡­To your husband?¡±


    ¡°At first.¡± Rheannach looked up at a banging sound, far away in the palace, and what was unquestionably the sound of many running feet. ¡°We¡ª¡±


    ¡°I know.¡± Ellaenie nodded. She looked down at Saoirse, then risked a precious few seconds to lean over and kiss the old woman on her forehead.


    I love you too¡­


    And then there was no more time. She took Rheannach¡¯s hand, there was a violent twisting of the world, and the ruined room vanished from around them to be replaced by a lake, a log cabin, and daylight.


    Ellaenie hadn¡¯t thought to be back here again, so soon. It didn''t feel welcoming or wonderful this time. Even as she gathered her breath and her bearings, the feeling of loss constricted her heart again.


    Saoirse¡­


    But not just her. Lisze. And Adrey. And all the dukes, all of Garanhir¡­


    All of the life and future she¡¯d imagined for herself and her people.


    It was too much. She turned to Rheannach as her friend, witch-mother and saviour furled her wings in and in until they were gone, opened her mouth to say¡­something¡­


    ¡­And fainted dead away.

 Chapter 9: Hard Lessons (part 1)

    <blockquote>


    Vathcanarthen, the ¡°City of Choirs¡± was the capitol of the empire, where rested the emperor Ekve¡¯s throne. Located on Prathardesh Earthmote, it has been left abandoned for the jungle to grow over, but its great ziggurats and the ancient fighting pits remain still. Across the worlds, legends abound of treasures and riches still undiscovered in the city¡¯s abandoned vaults, and every so often a daring ¡°archaeological¡± expedition will forge deep into the jungle and linger a while among the ancient stones. None have yet returned with anything to show for their efforts but insect bites and empty bellies. ¡ªDenrick Roth, Elves.


    </blockquote>


    <h2>The R¨¹wyrdan Set</h2>


    Il?yede Earthmote, World-sphere of Sayf 09.06.03.08.11


    Not many people ever got to enjoy the privilege of visiting an elf-village. Most, Jerl recalled, were remote by design, and the majority of elves simply didn¡¯t have much patience for humans. Short-lived, mayfly things that humans were, why would a self-respecting Fey be interested in having one come poking?


    There were tribes who lived in human civilization, Jerl knew. The Vathelan Set still lived in Auldenheigh to this day. There were tribes who lurked deep in the hidden valleys and woods and in remote earthmotes where no-one would bother them. There were the Nornfey, of course¡­


    The R¨¹wyrdan were just a nomadic village, so far as he could tell. After telling his story to their Soothnadhar, he¡¯d been asked to grant Sevise and Sinikka some privacy to discuss him, and so he just¡­wandered. Strolled around their encampment to see what life was like for the R¨¹wyrdan.


    The answer, he quickly realized, was that their entire childhood seemed to be a preparation to go on pilgrimage. At one end of the village was a flattened training yard where youths of both genders duelled with sticks, bruising their dark red skins purple in impossibly fast and agile displays of brutal mutual violence until one was struck down, and would then retreat to a nearby mat where they would sit, and meditate and focus their own healing magics inwardly onto their own body, before rising again to repeat the lesson.


    A rather younger group of children were sat in a circle around a storyteller, a wisened older woman whose ankle-length black dreadlocks had long since singed white on the outside, giving her head the appearance of being covered in hot charcoal. Curiously, Jerl noted they were busy with camp chores at the same time as the lesson: there was wheat to mill and dough to mix, and the task seemed to be used to focus their minds as they had the Ordfey¡¯s terrible crimes recounted to them.


    They seemed happy to let him watch, with only one exception: there was a tent at the far end of the village, around which the air was heavy with the smell of burning herbs, and he could hear somebody beating a soft drum inside and the sound of a young voice crying out in delirium. A guard posted outside it waved him off.


    ¡°Covka-unelir¡± he explained. ¡°Remembering.¡±


    Jerl nodded, and left whichever young Fey was within to recall their past lives in peace.


    And that, frankly, seemed to be the entire camp, notwithstanding a birthing tent (presently not in use) and a large communal stewpot tended by an older elf built nearly to a human¡¯s frame. He wasn¡¯t quite big enough to be described as a bear, but by Fey standards he qualified.


    Had the attitude of one, too. His was the first cool reception Jerl received around the camp. Still, he started preparing an omelette for Jerl on a large griddle over the fire. ¡°Wight.¡±


    Jerl blinked at the perfunctory greeting, and decided to reply in kind. ¡°Elf.¡±


    The elf set a bowl full of stew down, then handed Jerl a horn-carved utensil. ¡°This is a spoon. you eat the stew with it. Like a shovel, yes?¡± he pantomimed, his expression patronizing.


    ¡°I know what a spoon is,¡± Jerl replied, patiently.


    ¡°Mm. Never can tell with you people. My last chal, humans ate with sticks.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m familiar with chopsticks, too. You¡¯ll find I¡¯m well-traveled.¡±


    ¡°Mm.¡±


    ¡°¡­You don¡¯t like humans much, huh?¡±


    ¡°How much do you like a moth when it bothers you?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re trying to offend me into leaving.¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°Funny attitude for a Penitent.¡±


    The elf sighed and, deciding the omelette was ready, draped it over the top of Jerl¡¯s stew before handing over the bowl. ¡°Not all of us are like Bekhil and the Soothnadhar. I was a monster in past chal, yes. I do not see why that means I should enslave myself to a human¡¯s whims.¡±


    Jerl knew when he wasn¡¯t wanted, and would ordinarily have left the elf alone. But Time was tickling him. There was something¡­not imminent, but¡­something, nonetheless. This elf was going to be important for some reason. Why, exactly, he didn¡¯t know and didn¡¯t really want to know. Seeing the future too clearly would probably be maddening.


    But he saw clearly enough. So, he decided to stay and see if he could break through that shell.


    ¡°Maybe it doesn¡¯t,¡± he agreed. ¡°Maybe the whole chal-an-chal business is stupid.¡±


    A hit. A solid hit. The elf blinked and gave him a surprised look. ¡°¡­You think so? You who have Bekhil¡¯s service?¡±


    Jerl shrugged. ¡°You know what worries me about Sinikka? Since I learned this about her, everything she does makes more sense to me. The way she denies herself. The way she pretends she¡¯s not a person with a life here and now, and desires that she¡¯s refusing because she¡¯s guilty over what her past incarnations did.¡±


    ¡°So many Penitents do.¡±


    ¡°Yes. And I think it would be a terrible shame if there was nothing more to the elfish people than memories of the past, and an endless futile pilgrimage to make it right.¡± Jerl sampled the omelette and stew, and found it was truly excellent. He ate three spoonfuls while the elf who¡¯d cooked it frowned at him in thought, then elaborated. ¡°She has a man she loves, whom she refuses to love because she thinks she doesn¡¯t deserve it. She smiles easily, but it hardly ever touches her eyes. She¡¯s¡­¡±


    ¡°A ghost.¡±


    ¡°Yes. And as her friend, I hate to see it.¡±


    The elf grunted thoughtfully, then introduced himself. ¡°Harad R¨¹wyrdan Hakatin.¡±


    ¡°Jerl Holten.¡±


    ¡°I know.¡±


    ¡°Not going to apologize for the moth comparison? I like to think I¡¯m a little more interesting than some stupid insect.¡± Jerl flashed a charming grin.


    ¡°Perhaps you are,¡± Harad grunted. ¡°Marginally.¡±


    ¡°Heh!¡±


    ¡°¡­You are here to take on most of the Set as crew,¡± Harad said. ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°Because there¡¯s a man out there with the power and ambition to enslave the world, worse than the Ordfey ever did. Slavery of the mind, chains nobody can ever break because they won¡¯t even want to. I¡¯m trying to stop him.¡±


    ¡°I know of this, too. When you told the soothnadhar, I was there, and I listened. I was not impressed.¡±


    ¡°¡­By me, or by my plight?¡±


    Harad didn¡¯t reply directly. Instead he wiped the metal griddle clean. ¡°You have no plan. Find some elves, talk to Sayf, fight back, somehow¡­.that is all you have. It is insufficient.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re only at the beginning. I¡¯m still forming the plan. And gathering allies is a plan.¡±


    ¡°One does not dig the foundations before deciding what the house should look like,¡± Harad replied. ¡°You spoke nothing to the soothnadhar of the empire you plan to build with your power.¡±


    ¡°Because I don¡¯t plan on building an Empire. Fuck that.¡±


    Harad arched a sharp eyebrow and leaned back slightly to get a better look at him. ¡°Oh?¡±


    ¡°Yeah.¡± Jerl shook his head. ¡°I know, I have this power, and with it I could rule the worlds just like Civorage is trying to. But that¡¯s not me. I¡¯ve seen what power does to men and elves, and I¡¯d rather keep my soul. I¡¯ll build as much of a power base as I need to settle the matter, and then with any luck the world will never know I existed.¡±


    Harad watched him for a long minute, then took hold of the griddle by a pair of wooden handles on each end, lifted it out of the heat, moved the stewpot off the flames too, and circled around out of his covered kitchen.


    ¡°Excuse me,¡± he said.


    ¡°Uh¡­sure.¡±


    Jerl watched him go. The elf strode off toward the Truthkeeper''s tent, whistled once when he was outside it, then ducked in through the flaps. Interesting.


    Well¡­nothing to do but sit, wait and eat. There were worse ways to pass the time, especially with a meal this good. So Jerl sat, waited and ate his fill while watching the young elves train.


    It was educational. Without hundreds of prior lifetimes to draw on, they were not a fragment as graceful or deadly as they would one day be, but that clearly was not the point. The point, so far as Jerl could tell, was to prepare their bodies to be ready for the skill they would inherit. Which made sense: it¡¯d do an elf little good if they were a master swordsman but reincarnated in a flabby, untrained body with neither the strength nor hardiness to make proper use of their skill.


    Still. It didn¡¯t seem like a fun childhood. Training hard, nursing bruises and split lips, and waiting to become somebody else.


    As he watched, a couple of them were dismissed from the training circle and limped over to grab a bite to eat. They paused upon seeing him, and Jerl realized that for these two, who couldn¡¯t remember their prior chal, he might very well be the first human they¡¯d ever met.


    He greeted them in Feydh as best he could, and scooted aside to make room.


    It quickly became apparent they didn¡¯t speak a lick of Garanese, and his own grasp of Feydh was inadequate for conversation, so he sat and waited and ate some more while the pair tried to study him surreptitiously and instead only achieved gawking.


    He smiled at a familiar feeling alongside him, and didn¡¯t bother to turn.


    ¡°What are they talking about?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Can¡¯t tell. It¡¯s all in elvish.¡± Mouse sighed, and dug into his own stolen stew bowl.


    ¡°Figures.¡±


    ¡°Mhm. I can see the shape of their thoughts, though. That guy who just came in seemed pretty intense, and I don¡¯t think he likes you much.¡±


    ¡°No? I was hoping I¡¯d impressed him.¡±


    ¡°You certainly made an impression¡­¡± Mouse flashed a smirk at the two elfish teenagers, who were staring at him in astonishment and no doubt wondering where he¡¯d come from.


    ¡°A good one?¡±


    Mouse shrugged. ¡°Look, something¡¯s telling me it¡¯d be best if I go back to the ship and check on Dad. Whatever¡¯s going on here, I think¡­I think I¡¯ll make it worse. I¡¯ve got that feeling.¡±


    ¡°¡®Kay.¡± Jerl leaned over and kissed him, which only made the elves go further bug-eyed, then sat back to relax.


    He didn¡¯t have to wait long. He was just finishing his stew when Sinikka ducked out of the Truthkeeper¡¯s tent and joined him.


    ¡°Sevise wishes to speak with you.¡±


    ¡°Okay.¡± Jerl scraped the last of the bowl¡¯s contents into his mouth, set the bowl and spoon politely together for somebody to wash, and hopped up.


    The Soothnadhar¡¯s tent smelled of spiced smoke, and was made musical by a collection of bone wind chimes high up at the tent¡¯s apex, where the breeze through the ventilation made them rattle and clack softly against each other. Inside, Sevise was applying a white paste of some kind to Harad¡¯s forehead. He gave Jerl a nod that said ¡¯bear with me, please¡¯ in any language, and carefully finished painting his swirly design before setting the substance aside.


    ¡°¡­I hear your story and what you ask, and Bekhil, she speak for you,¡± he said. ¡°Still I am not¡­uh¡­¡± he snapped his fingers and frowned before turning to Harad. ¡°Ke ¡®caernmus¡¯ en Wightidh?¡±


    ¡°He is not convinced,¡± Sevise translated for Jerl.


    Sevise nodded. ¡°No. To ask for as many of our tribe as we can spare is¡­you ask much. Our Set will need many chal, many years to grow back.¡±


    ¡°I appreciate that,¡± Jerl agreed.


    ¡°And now Harad comes to ask for a soothidh, a truth-speaking.¡±


    ¡°¡­What does that entail?¡±


    ¡°Sit.¡± Sevise gestured to one side of the woven rug in the middle of the tent. Jerl did so, crossing his legs under him while Harad squatted down opposite, his heels flat to the floor. Sevise knelt between them to one side, positioning himself as an arbiter of some kind. He placed a thick, straight stick covered in dots of paint on the rug between them.


    ¡°A sooth-speaking,¡± he announced to Jerl, ¡°is for¡­rude honesty, you might say. What Harad wants to tell you, he thinks you will not want to hear, but he thinks you must hear. You do not have to, but if you leave and don¡¯t hear him, my people do not come with you. You understand?¡±


    Jerl blinked, and gave Harad a hard look. The elf stared back, challenging him. ¡°¡­I think I do. But why does a stranger I only just met want to criticize me to my face? And by what right?¡±


    ¡°By right of age, experience and insight,¡± Harad replied. ¡°And my reason is necessity: you need to hear this, Jerl Holten. For the good of all.¡±


    Jerl frowned at him a moment longer, then nodded to Sevise. ¡°I will hear him.¡±


    Sevise bowed his head, then spoke to Harad in a serious tone, in Feydh. From what Jerl could catch, it sounded like swearing him to an oath of some kind.


    Harad translated for his benefit. ¡°What I say to you, I say in the spirit of kindness, for I desire to improve you. I know it is a difficult thing to hear harsh words of truth, and I regret the pain I must cause you. I swear that no undeserved insult or unnecessary cruelty will leave my mouth. Only the truth, as it seems to me."


    Sevise nodded, and turned to Jerl ¡°What he says is a gift, not a wound. Will you swear to hear it in that way?¡±


    ¡°This all seems¡­overly serious and formal,¡± Jerl pointed out. ¡°Why not just talk, like we were outside?¡±


    ¡°Because it is important,¡± Harad said. ¡°You need to be in the right mind to hear what I have to say. Had I said this outside, you would have just walked away from the rude elf, I think.¡±


    ¡°I think you don¡¯t know me as well as you believe, but fine,¡± Jerl said. ¡°I will hear what you have to say. Lay it on me.¡±


    Harad glanced at Sevise, nodded once, and the soothnadhar lifted the stick out of the way. Harad stared at Jerl a moment longer, then exhaled, inhaled, and spoke.


    ¡°You are a parasite.¡±


    Jerl frowned. ¡°¡­I thought you just swore not to insult me.¡±


    ¡°I am not insulting you, any more than if I noted your hair is black or that your ship is made of wood. You, Jerl Holten, enjoy the life and wealth you have because other people work hard. The miners and trappers and hunters and brewers whose goods you buy cheap, the smiths and tailors you sell to at a markup, the hard-working men who pull on your ship¡¯s ropes. You benefit from their work, while doing little of your own.¡±


    Jerl glanced to Sevise. ¡°I would like to defend myself from this accusation.¡±


    ¡°Then defend yourself,¡± Sevise replied, evenly.


    ¡°I take a risk every time I buy and sell. If the market changes, if pirates find us, if the goods are spoiled or lost, it all comes out of my pocket. My crew enjoy the safety of the salary I pay them, secured against my own reputation, credit line and assets. And I daresay I pay them handsomely for it. Certainly handsomely enough to earn their loyalty and trust.¡±


    ¡°And yet, other people built your ship and made the goods on which your business depends,¡± Harad retorted. ¡°Understand, Jerl Holten, I do not object to the existence of merchants in general. The hard truth I have for you in particular is that you are a man of low ambition. You benefit from other people¡¯s ambition and work while having little of your own. Worse, you think your apathy is a virtue. You believe you are somehow being morally the better person by wishing only to return to your quiet, comfortable, low-responsibility life. In any other man, this sedentary nature would be an inconsequential vice. In you, it is intolerable. You, of all the beings in the Nested Worlds, cannot say ¡¯fuck that¡¯ to opportunity when it calls.¡±


    ¡°Can¡¯t I?¡± Jerl shot back. ¡°Shouldn¡¯t I? After I¡¯ve seen what ambition did to Nils Civorage, and all the people he¡¯s enslaved? In the face of something like him, what am I supposed to think except that ambition leads men to do terrible things?¡±


    ¡°Coward!¡± Harad spat. Before Jerl could take offense, Sevise shoved the stick in front of Harad¡¯s face and glared at him until he subsided. At least he was an impartial arbiter, it semed.


    Harad cleared his throat as he settled. ¡°¡­I apologize for my tone. But I will not retract the word. You are a coward, Jerl Holten. You are so afraid of him, afraid of becoming like him, that it has robbed you of sense and the courage to act. And it has robbed you of self-esteem. Aren¡¯t you better than him?¡±


    ¡°I hope so! But according to you, I¡¯m a parasite!¡±


    ¡°And so you will remain, unless you can find the will to exert yourself on the world!¡± Harad growled. ¡°What plan do you have? What is your goal? Is everything you do just a reaction to your enemy¡¯s will? Because let me be exceedingly clear, wansuul; if that is all you have, if reaction is all you are, then we are already doomed.¡±


    Jerl opened his mouth to argue, but Sevise thrust the stick in between them and held it there. He stared Harad in the face for a second, then did the same to Jerl, and only once both of them had taken a second to calm themselves and think did he withdraw the stick and allow them to continue.


    ¡°¡­.Go on,¡± Jerl ventured, tightly.


    ¡°We live in a terrible moment of danger for all the worlds and all their peoples,¡± Harad explained. ¡°And the source of that danger is a highly ambitious man. He has plans, and is executing them. He has intent, and the will to make it happen. He is a caernsuul, a strong soul. Men such as that, whether they are Wight or Fey, cannot be stopped only by reacting to them. And what have you done, thus far, except react to him?¡±


    ¡°We stole Mind from his safe.¡±


    ¡°That too was a reaction. A necessary and commendable one, perhaps, but it was not an exertion of your own will so much as a thwarting of his. And besides: other than that one painful sting you have fled him. Evaded him. And now you come here seeking to replace half your crew because you, good-hearted man that you are, cannot bear to lead them into danger unless they explicitly agreed to it. Because you lack the fortitude to endure the necessary hardships involved in defeating an evil such as we now face.¡±


    Jerl blinked. ¡°I¡ª¡±


    Harad waited patiently for him to continue for a second, then forged ahead. ¡°You are a kind man. A humble man. One who values simple pleasures and the well-being of others. These can be virtues. But the definition of a vice is a virtue taken too far, or held too tight in the wrong moment. And this is the wrong moment to be kind, humble and simple. You said you would build the necessary power base and no more than that. That is insufficient.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°Because it is irresponsible! How will you know whether you have the necessary power base until Civorage lies crushed and forgotten? How can you know, before the fact, that you have enough? What happens if you make your move thinking you have enough, only to suffer terrible defeat?¡±


    Harad leaned forward in his squat, his red eyes boring into Jerl¡¯s. ¡°This foe cannot be taken lightly. He demands your every effort, the fullest, unfettered might you can muster. Anything less than your utmost is a dereliction of the responsibility that has fallen to you. You do not have the luxury of believing you can return to your simple, humble life, now. You must not expect to, and you must give up your desire to. You must become ambitious.¡±


    ¡°And what fate is that for the world?¡± Jerl asked. ¡°He and I have the power of creation itself at our fingertips! What happens to all the innocent people out there when we go to war and seize all the power we can get?¡±


    ¡°What happens to them will be whatever is necessary,¡± said Harad, coldly. ¡°You must claim the power that has come to you and build as much as you can with it, or else everyone will suffer for your lack of resolve. And you cannot balk at whatever that means. If the price of defeating Nils Civorage is that you must build an empire atop a mountain of innocent dead, then refusing to do it is no virtue at all.¡±


    ¡°So long as my mountain is smaller than his, is that it? The lesser of two evils?¡±


    ¡°His mountain is of enslaved innocents. Worse than enslaved: Enraptured. Enchanted. Ensorcelled. They have no chains to break, nor stockades to tear down. He has destroyed them entirely, and become their god. You must have the fortitude to kill them all and ten million more besides if that is what must be done to destroy him.¡±


    ¡°How very Ordfey of you,¡± Jerl shot back. ¡°Life matters, Harad.¡±


    ¡°Life ends,¡± Harad snarled. ¡°No matter what, one way or another, life always ends. But the chains Civorage would forge will be eternal. For every human to come, and for every Feysuul, forever, and ever, unto eternity. Next to that, every evil is not only lesser, but infinitesimal. You must find the fortitude to do what is right, not what your naive qualms find untroubling.¡±


    Jerl frowned at him. ¡°For somebody who only just met me, you seem to think you know a lot about me.¡±


    ¡°You are Bekhil¡¯s student,¡± Harad said. He sat back and his head jerked upwards, judging Jerl. ¡°And she has been a bad influence on you.¡±


    ¡°A bad influence?¡± Jerl asked angrily, about to jump to his friend¡¯s defense, but Sevise raised the stick again. Right. Yes. He grit his teeth, took a deep breath, and listened.


    Harad¡¯s expression was stony. ¡°This is an extension of an argument she and I have been locked in for lifetimes. Her focus is narrow and selfish. She focuses on personal redemption; she wants to wash all that blood from her hands and settle her conscience, and has never accepted that she is chasing a rainbow she will never reach. My focus is on the practical and the possible. My repentance for the monster I was is to guide those who need it in making a better world. And you, Jerl Holten, very badly need my guidance if you intend to succeed. So: I am coming with you. I shall not swear chal-an-chal, but you will have my counsel and my blade, even if you refuse them. I assure you, you cannot flee me, so the only way to be rid of me will be to kill me. And if you do that¡­well, despite my criticism, I do not take you for a fool. Certainly not one of that magnitude.¡±


    Jerl stared at him for a long moment. Then he uncrossed his legs and rose into a kneeling position.


    ¡°Seeing as the spirit of this whole thing is brutal honesty¡­¡± he said, ¡°I appreciate you believe you are in the right, and your intent is to help me. But I am not an unprincipled coward, nor am I too weak to do the right thing. And frankly, given elvish history, it¡¯s very rich for you or any other Fey to try and claim the superior moral compass. But I will accept your help, and your counsel, because I do need all the aid I can get, and every sword arm. So¡­thank you. I will take your words under advisement.¡±


    ¡°That is all I ask.¡± Harad extended a hand. After a moment, Jerl reached out, and they shook on it. ¡°May I say¡­if you are in the right on this matter, then I will be glad to live in a world that is kinder than I thought,¡± he added, squeezing Jerl¡¯s hand with frightening strength before letting go.


    ¡°Then let¡¯s hope I¡¯m right, nay?¡±


    Harad grunted. ¡°¡­Hm. I believe we understand each other, then.¡± He turned to Sevise. ¡°Soothnadhar, hako hen anaku¡¯n mend da Wighten. Akunkun kenara ik cordd hido¡­chal fa.¡±


    Jerl knew enough to recognize a farewell: ¡°I¡¯m going with this human. I don¡¯t think we¡¯ll meet again in this life.¡± Sevise smiled sadly and nodded, then rose to his feet to embrace Harad in a tight hug. ¡°Chal fa, chaerdwyrd. Otem advatemku.¡±


    Harad squeezed him back, they kissed each other¡¯s cheeks, and that seemed to be it. ¡°I will gather my things and meet you on your ship,¡± he told Jerl, and strode from the tent without further acknowledgment.


    There was a moment¡¯s silence, until Jerl became aware that Sevise was chuckling silently, under his breath.


    ¡°I¡­I¡¯m sorry, what¡¯s funny?¡±


    ¡°You make¡­what is word?¡±


    ¡°An impression?¡±


    ¡°Yes. Like a thumb in wet clay. But he is old, dry, hard clay. Not easy to impression. Many long chal ago since I see him like someone so much.¡±


    Jerl couldn¡¯t keep the skepticism off his face. ¡°That¡¯s his idea of liking someone?¡±


    ¡°You will see. He must like you much, to share a ship with Bekhil.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s an old grievance between them?¡±


    ¡°Old love.¡±


    ¡°¡­Ah.¡± Jerl frowned, and was about to ask something about Bekhil and Ekve, but then reasoned they were discussing people who¡¯d been around for nigh-on twelve thousand years. Presumably every elf had a long and storied romantic past. ¡°That¡­had better not become a problem.¡±


    ¡°A trial for you, keeping it not a problem.¡± Sevise said. ¡°But. Harad is satisfied, and goes with you. I am satisfied, so the R¨¹wyrdan Set goes with you. You will have your crew. Give me time to tell them.¡±


    ¡°Thank you.¡± Jerl bowed, formally. ¡°If I can repay you in any way¡ª¡±


    ¡°You give a cause to my Set. That is repay enough.¡±


    ¡°¡­Alright. Well then¡­thank you again. I promise to lead them well.¡±


    ¡°I believe you.¡±


    Jerl shook the truth-keeper¡¯s hand, and ducked out of the dim tent to blink a moment in the hot afternoon sunlight. Sensing there was no longer anything to wait for around the camp, he jogged over to Sinikka, who was easily the palest thing in sight. She was sitting under a shady tree and fanning herself, waiting for him.


    ¡°So. A truthspeaking?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°Figures. Hakatin was always¡­very serious, nay?¡±


    ¡°You two have history, I take it.¡±


    ¡°We were lovers.¡±


    ¡°I thought you were the imperial consort?¡±


    ¡°The Ordfey was a fucked up, hedonistic time, Jerl. But in any case, my marriage to Ekve was political, not passionate. Ekve was my liege, Hakatin was my love. Across several lives and deaths.¡±


    ¡°But not any longer?¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re not who we were any more. Let¡¯s leave it at that.¡±


    ¡°As you wish,¡± Jerl agreed. ¡°Anyway. We have a crew.¡±


    ¡°Good. I got the leaving lads¡¯ pay sorted out, so¡­back to Mehoom, I guess.¡±


    Jerl nodded his thanks, and together they strolled back toward the ship. He guessed they were probably going to be waiting a few hours for the elves to come aboard. Plenty of time to chew on Harad¡¯s words. And he had to admit, one of the grim elf¡¯s challenges had stuck with him: What exactly was his plan? What action was he committed to that wasn¡¯t just¡­escaping and regrouping?


    Well, they were going to visit Sayf next, to take counsel. But that was¡­that still wasn¡¯t a plan. That still wasn¡¯t what came next. Would he gather more Words? But then¡­who would he give the words to? Even if the Crowns allowed it?


    He didn¡¯t actually know. And Harad was right: it was time for that to change.


    Soon.


    He walked back to the ship deep in thought.


    <hr>


    <h2>Interlude: Eight years previously</h2>


    Auldenheigh, Garanhir Earthmote


    If he hadn¡¯t known Ellaenie was alive and well, Gilber Drevin would have been in the grip of an unfathomable despair. Knowing she lived and was still herself was enough to keep his mood from becoming utterly hopeless¡­


    But it was still as black as an unlit coal mine. His failure could not have been more complete. He should have spirited the duchess out of the city the moment he learned of Civorage¡¯s presence. There were any number of safe houses he could have gone to, properties he owned himself or which belonged to families he trusted, or distant extensions of the ducal estate¡­


    Leaving her in the city, in her palace, had been foolish. And they had nearly lost everything as a consequence.


    Frankly, it was difficult to see what they had retained. Civorage now had the run of Auldenheigh, even if the man himself seemed to have unaccountably vanished. His agents were abroad now, and to Gilber¡¯s witch-sight the magic of the Circle may as well have been a symbol as obvious as a distinctive hat, or a tabard. It felt like silvery chains, from a distance. Silvery chains and sweet, intoxicating music. Those poor buggers were wandering around in a constant happy daze, content that their life was part of something grand and meaningful.


    He avoided them and moved through the crowds dressed slightly unfashionably, like a man who¡¯d settled on the vogue of yesteryear and never moved on. The vogue in question had been for high collars and low-brimmed hats, paired with profuse sideburns. Plenty of camouflage for the face, in other words. The sideburns were glued on, and would pain his real whiskers when he came to peel them off later, but so be it. Better a painfully effective disguise than recognition, right now.


    The palace looked like an airship had fired a cannonade into it. The duchess¡¯ rooms were gone, smashed out entirely by some explosive effort of magical force. Broken glass still glinted on the lawn, and in the street far away across the lawns and over the wall. People in the neighboring manors had been woken by agonizing migraines as the psychic battle raged within¡­and those who had endured it well enough to stagger to the window had witnessed a wing¨¦d figure, as beautiful as she was terrifying, descend into the ruined rooms amidst a shimmer of dark light, fairly radiating anger, hatred and grief so blinding that even the untrained were stricken by it.


    There was no mistaking a Herald for anyone or anything lesser. Now the streets were abuzz with conversation and rumor about which one it could be. Rheannach¡¯s name, of course, was the most mentioned: people weren¡¯t stupid, and knew the Heralds well. There were few others who might match her description.


    The Oneists were stoking the gossip and poisoning it with as much misinformation as they could¡­and as much truth as they could turn toxic. In just one morning, Ellaenie¡¯s reputation had been sabotaged terribly. Gone was the image of a compassionate mage who had exhausted herself to heal her people, and now the people in the crowd were gossiping darkly that their duchess was¡­a witch.


    Which she was, of course. And it should have been just as much a cause for admiration, in a just world. But the Craft had been feared and disliked among Garanhir¡¯s people for hundreds of years. Gilber didn¡¯t know how it had first come to be seen as a licentious, wicked and vile path, or how witches had first been blamed for the Shades, but redeeming the Craft in the eyes of the public would have been the work of generations, even with Ellaenie¡¯s help.


    The worst part was, every drop of the poison the Oneists were dripping into the public¡¯s ear was brewed from a twisted version of the truth. The Craft was whispered (correctly) to touch on the mind and on powers of seduction, manipulation and enchantment. The word bewitchment existed to hint darkly at powers that a fully realized witch absolutely did possess. The Craft¡¯s domain really was spirit, mind, insight and will, charm and enchantment, guile and beguilement. To Gilber¡¯s thinking, that no more made it evil than the presence of a sharp steel edge made a kitchen knife a sword, but¡­


    But public opinion was not a rational affair. To the Garanese, the Craft was evil, all those who practiced it were monsters, and there was no room for nuance. For the Enerlish to learn that their beloved duchess was in fact a hated witch had put a horrible dent in their hearts, and now they spoke bitterly of her seducing the public, and wondered what fornications she had indulged in out in the woods. What evil, soul-stealing secrets she must have learned from the hag thaighn¡­.


    And what terrible crime she must have committed to earn a Herald¡¯s wrath.


    Of course, there was an even darker current gaining strength, now: the Oneists ultimately wished to poison the worlds against the Crowns themselves. What better way than to hint that they approved of witchcraft?


    Which, again, was true.


    What a terrible skill Civorage had. Taking the true and good, and corrupting it to his own selfish ends. And now¡­he had won Auldenheigh. And through Auldenheigh, all of Garanhir. The dukes had not yet weighed in on the night¡¯s affairs, but Gilber guessed Civorage was biding his time, letting the venomous rumors fester a while longer before having his puppets step in to really rot the wound. No doubt the Dukesmoot would meet, hear evidence of Ellaenie¡¯s turpitude, and elect to replace her with somebody more¡­upstanding.


    This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.


    Gilber doubted whether Civorage could afford the audacity to claim the duchy himself, yet. More likely he¡¯d install a puppet. It didn¡¯t really matter. His victory on Garanhir was complete, achieved almost before his opposition had begun to notice he was moving, and terrifyingly fast. A year ago, the Church of the One had consisted of a single, small circle meeting at a nobleman¡¯s town house. Now¡­


    Well. They¡¯d wrongly assumed Civorage would need a large base of public support and for the Oneists to be a major political force before he made his move. Now they knew better, and there was nothing to do except retreat, regroup, and prepare to defend against his next conquest using the knowledge they had gained.


    Well..there was one thing. But it wasn¡¯t his to do. All he could do was set another on the path.


    His first stop was the bank, where he retrieved a safe deposit box stored under a name that was not his own. The second stop was a coffee house, where he sat and wrote for a few minutes on some distinctive stationery, then sealed the resulting letter with wax and signet that were not Gilber Drevin¡¯s.


    From there, he returned the box to the bank, strolled to a post office, and paid the small sum to have the letter delivered¡­and that concluded his business in Auldenheigh. It was not safe for him to remain any longer.


    He mounted his horse and rode out of the city, following the river road down the Heigh toward Betlend. He rode all day and the villages and hamlets passing him by almost unheeded, such was his mood, until he came around a bend in the river to see the ferry village of Steffanside ahead of him, its magestone lights twinkling on the water.


    His last duty was to trot into town and visit the village¡¯s small hotel to speak, briefly but fruitfully, with the proprietor.


    That done, he turned back the way he¡¯d come, and trotted back up the road about two miles before taking a small side path up into the woods, following a farm track that was more like a tunnel through trees, sunk between two high, wall-like, thick hedges. The path dipped down, forded a stream, then bent sharply back on itself to turn and loop up the hill, curving fully back around the summit until he could look down and see road, and the hamlet of Ferryhaven on the far side of the river, though Steffanside was obscured behind the hill¡¯s flank. The ferry was about halfway across, returning from the far bank to the near, and he paused a moment to enjoy the view, regretting that it might be for the very last time.


    When at last the ferry had passed from view behind the hill, he turned himself away and toward a dry stone wall, which enclosed a small flower garden and a little three-room stone cottage with roughcast walls. A gentleman¡¯s holidaying lodge which did not, on paper, belong to Lord Gilber Drevin at all, but to a Mister Edevard Spears.


    Confident as he was that it was impossible the Oneists might know about it, Gilber still approached cautiously, straining his witch-sight to its limit and alert for any sign of occupancy. And indeed, there were some¡­but the expected signs, only.


    It is alright, my love. I am here, and none other.


    The first unadulterated positive feelings of his long and terrible day finally kindled in Gilber¡¯s heart as he dismounted. As he unsaddled his horse and tended to him in the lodge¡¯s small stable, he heard the cottage door open and latch, and shortly thereafter warm, almost hot long-fingered hands slithered over his shoulders to squeeze and massage them, then back and down under his arms and around his chest. A soft cheek rested on his upper back.


    ¡°We failed,¡± he said, after a silent minute.


    She nodded against him. ¡°I know.¡±


    Gilber sighed, and hung his head. ¡°I don¡¯t know what to do next.¡±


    ¡°You cannot stay here, love.¡±


    ¡°I know. But¡­¡±


    She nodded, her cheek scratching against his riding jacket. After a second, she reached out and patted his horse. ¡°Will Jasper be alright?¡±


    ¡°I made arrangements at the village. Somebody will be along to collect him in the morning. He¡¯ll enjoy a long and happy retirement as a merchant¡¯s daughter¡¯s favourite new gelding.¡±


    ¡°Good.¡±


    Gilber sighed, stroked the old boy¡¯s nose in a fond farewell, finished brushing him down and set the saddle aside before turning to face¡­Her.


    The woman behind him had the wide and flattened high-cheeked face characteristic of the Yunei, though had she lived among them she¡¯d have been Untouchable caste. Far too tall and long-limbed. But of course, when she moved among them, she took a suitably imperial form. When she was abroad among the Garanese, she wore a different face to avoid comment, but he¡¯d always thought of this one as her real face¡­though of course, it wasn¡¯t. Not really.


    But it was a truly beautiful face. Pale, delicate and symmetrical, framed by a curtain of silky black hair and the subtle arc of perfect brows. And of course, there were those eyes¡­


    Nobody else in all the worlds had eyes like hers.


    ¡°So. Where are we going? Yngmir¡¯s house?¡± he asked.


    She shook her head. ¡°He is too distracted by his books, and too naive. We are not bringing him into our confidence, not yet.¡±


    ¡°The King¡¯s cabin, then¡ª¡±


    She shook her head again. "You need rest, beloved. Take a day, take two. The enemy¡¯s next move will be the Dukesmoot, so we are at least safe until then. Come with me to my roost, and gather yourself.¡±


    He tried to summon the courage and strength to object, to insist on anything, anywhere else¡­but he couldn¡¯t. She was right, he needed rest now in a way that went far deeper than just being tired from lack of sleep. He needed a balm for the soul. She smiled sadly when she saw him agree, stretched up on tip-toe to kiss him, then stepped back, cast off her long black coat, and¡­


    And changed.


    Jasper tossed his head and snorted, but Gilber just watched as his lover¡¯s body extended, expanded, amplified in every way. Her soft, pale skin rippled and vanished behind an armored layer of thick golden scales. Her face elongated, the subtle fangs she always kept even in human form lengthened until they were scimitars in a mouth big enough to snatch up an ox and fringed by floating whiskers. The serpentine length of her body seemed to become infinite, wrapping beneath her until she was coiled on his lodge¡¯s lawn, ready for him.


    As always, her breath was a soft and deep but blisteringly hot growl as she ducked her head down for him to mount.


    You will see. All will be well.


    ¡°I hope so¡­¡± Gilber agreed. He used her offered foreclaw as a step, found the patch at the nape of her neck where he could sit and hold her horns, and gave a farewell glance to this little cottage where he¡¯d escaped so many times, when he needed to. Perhaps, if it remained undiscovered, he would be back¡­


    But that was a matter for later. Now, Dragon¡¯s vast muscles bunched beneath him and she sprang from the ground. There was a half minute of thrilling speed as she weaved between deciduous tree trunks and down into the unseen back-country valleys, then turned her nose upwards and rose vertically into the sky in a long, flowing slither. When Gilber turned his head, Garanhir was already a mile below him, two miles or more. Five miles, ten. The speed of her flight rose a cone of mist to flicker around her nose, and the thundercrack of her flight should have deafened him and beaten him apart, but she protected him: he never felt so much as a zephyr as she raced playfully through a cloud, and he lost sight of home.


    He tried not to wonder if he would ever go back.


    <hr>


    <blockquote>


    ¡°You ever see one of those Junei dogs? Samwais, they¡¯re called. I tried to get one but apparently the reason they¡¯re so expensive is they have to be smuggled out of the Empire ¡®cuz owning on will get you executed if you¡¯re not a noble or one of the Imperial family. Still, they¡¯re meant to be soft as goose-down, loyal and loving, dumb as a pair o¡¯ planks, and their ears are big enough you can use ¡®em for a blanket in a pinch, so it might be worth it¡­¡±


    ¡ªOverheard in the Creamery Inn, Lower Heighporth, Enerlend


    </blockquote>


    <h2>Saying goodbye</h2>


    Mehoom, Il?yede Earthmote, World-sphere of Sayf 09.06.03.08.13


    Jerl found there was a certain bittersweet gratification in the farewells they were saying. A lot of the men leaving him were good workers who¡¯d signed on with him year after year, and they had nothing but good things to say. And he knew from experience of that first terrible go-around that they were all loyal, tough, capable men who would literally go to the ends of the worlds with him if they had to.


    But given the choice, about half the crew would prefer not to.


    Hiring on the R¨¹wyrdan had been as simple as telling his story and having Sinikka vouch for him. The moment they knew some of the Crowns¡¯ own power was being abused by a mortal man, the elves had been frantic to help, and as many as could had pledged themselves to serve on the Queen until Jerl released them or death took them. It had been the easiest negotiation of Jerl¡¯s career. Not even a negotiation, really: just ask, and receive.


    So, they were back in the city, where most of the elves were staying aboard the ship and were literally learning the ropes from as much of the crew as had stayed on. For the leavers, Jerl had arranged a small leaving bash at an intriguing tavern not far from the air-dock. It was a walled compound around a small water feature, decorated in a riot of paints so brightly hued that it practically glowed in the sunlight. The beer was intriguingly malty, sweet and spiced with aromatics, and the food was a stew of meat and rice that set fire to the mouth and left it watering.


    There was no better way to say farewell than with good food, in Jerl¡¯s opinion.


    ¡°I just wish I could drop you off somewhere with more traffic. It may be a while before you get to sign on with a different ship.¡±


    ¡°Sure we¡¯ll manage.¡± The unofficial spokesman for the group of leavers was Alm Densel, a fellow Antage native, a fact which was remining Jerl of one of his more pressing worries. His family back in Antage were in danger, now: Civorage must surely have identified them as useful bait by now. He¡¯d wondered whether Alm could get a letter to them before then, which maybe would help¡­


    ¡­Or maybe Civorage had already got to them and claimed them. That was the terrible part, Jerl just couldn¡¯t know. The best he could do, for now, was stay away and pretend at indifference in the hopes that Civorage would assume Jerl was estranged or disowned or something and that the family weren¡¯t useful to him at all.


    A letter might give away the truth. So, reluctantly, Jerl had decided against sending one with Alm. It wasn¡¯t at all a happy or comfortable decision, but it was made, hopefully it was the right one, and if not it was wrong for the right reasons. Which was as good as a decision ever got, really.


    ¡°Well, it¡¯s been a pleasure and a privilege, gentlemen.¡± He stood up and made a last round of handshakes. ¡°May your lives remain relaxed and peaceful, for Crowns know mine¡¯s not going to.¡±


    ¡°Fair winds at your back, Mister Holten,¡± Densel said, gripping his elbow as they shook hands. ¡°Don¡¯t be a stranger.¡±


    ¡°Best for you if I do, I think. But thank you all the same.¡±


    And that was that. Half his crew was gone, replaced by elves, many of whom spoke shaky Garanese at best, to match Jerl¡¯s shaky grasp of Feydh. Needs must, but they were going to have to work on that language thing fairly aggressively. A crew that couldn¡¯t communicate was a crew that got into trouble. And most of the elves had never been aboard an airship at all, in any of their chal. They were going to have to¡ª


    Sensation smote him in the head. It was a chill up his spine, a tingling in his scalp, a short tightness in his chest all at once. Adrenaline, fear, alertness, the sudden certainty that he was in imminent danger stopped him mid-stride so abruptly that Mouse, nearly bowled right into him.


    ¡°What-?¡± he began, but Jerl grabbed his lover by an arm and broke into a run.


    ¡°No time! We need to get to the ship!¡±


    ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°No time!¡± Jerl repeated. He put his head down and charged, his boots pounding up a dust cloud from Mehoom¡¯s unpaved streets. A woman balancing a basket full of cloth on her head danced aside and dropped it as he bowled past her, and her outraged declamations chased him up the road, despite Jerl¡¯s over-the-shoulder cry of ¡°Sorry!¡±


    Hers was not the only load he upset. In his mad rush he tripped over a chicken cage and let its occupants loose, skittled a stack of water jugs, and had to stagger wildly to avoid bowling over a small child. But he didn¡¯t dare stop and offer a real apology, because with every step, with every heartbeat, the premonition grew and grew in power and terror.


    He reached the airdock and pounded up the Queen¡¯s ramp almost totally out of breath, but he had enough air in him to call out. ¡°Sin! Derghan! We have to go right now! Get us airborne!¡±


    Bless them, but they jumped to without a moment¡¯s hesitation, Sin shouting instructions in Feydh for the new R¨¹wyrdan crew while Derghan scrambled down below decks to light the engines.


    Even so, they were painfully slow compared to how quickly the crew would have responded before. Marren¡¯s rigging team were done with their task and the bag was straining against the ropes at full lift well before the ship¡¯s other preparations were finished, with the result that when the bolt was drawn and the mooring ropes cast off, the Queen jumped into the sky with a sickening bottom-of-the-belly lurch rather than ascend gracefully.


    The clumsy launch turned out to be good fortune. As Jerl steadied himself against the wheelhouse, his eyes turned to the horizon almost of their own accord, and he saw the reason for his intrusive sense of doom.


    An airship was bearing down on them. A large airship, its bag decorated in the blue, white and gold of the Clear Skies Guild. Twice the Queen¡¯s size and armed with cannons, the forward-facing quartet of which were hidden behind four white spears of smoke¡­


    The shot smashed into the docking tower just seconds after the Cavalier Queen¡¯s cork-pop ascent took her clear of it, smashed clean through and sent tumbling splinters raining down while the ground crew dived for cover. Jerl flung himself at the wheel, shooed Gebby off it, signalled for full power, and climbed as steeply as he dared while the attackers swung out and around.


    This was bad, very bad. Not only was the Queen unarmed, but even if she were, the advantage in an airship duel always belonged to the ship with more speed and altitude. A ship taking off from port was at its most vulnerable.


    The Clear Skies ship swept around in a wide arc. It was a smart move, outrunning the Queen downwind and then coming back in with a long run to line up a shot. But Jerl had Time. From his perspective, the ticking seconds crawled by, giving him plenty of time to see, calculate, adjust. He cranked the wheel around until the rudder locked, sending even seasoned airshipmen staggering across the deck as the Queen¡¯s hull swung crazily under her bag, aimed her nose above the onrushing ship¡¯s trajectory, and straightened out to let the engines pile on some speed. It was not only an insanely daring move, but an insanely quick one, the sort of thing no ordinary pilot would have the reflexes to pull off.


    His ship¡¯s hull missed the other ship¡¯s bag by scant feet as the two roared past each other. Even before they¡¯d passed, Jerl was hauling the Queen around to match his opponent¡¯s heading.


    Sin came skipping across the deck, sure-footed even as it leapt and rolled under her feet. ¡°I hope you have a plan!¡± she called over the engines.


    ¡°Yeah! Step one: don¡¯t let them fuckin¡¯ shoot us!¡±


    She grabbed the wheelhouse railing and held on as he banked as hard as the Cavalier Queen would go to catch the other ship¡¯s course. ¡°Outstanding! What¡¯s step two?¡±


    Jerl grunted as he found himself needing to slow and ease off the turn or else go shooting right into the other ship¡¯s broadside. The Queen being smaller meant she was both faster and nimbler. Useful for staying in their enemy¡¯s blind quarter, but all-too-easy to overshoot and get caught if he wasn¡¯t careful. ¡°I¡¯ll get back to you!¡±


    ¡°Can you get above her?¡±


    ¡°Bad idea! Float mines!¡± Jerl pointed them out: the other ship¡¯s stern was hung with several white packages, timed powder charges attached to a bag full of fuel and a lift gas balloon.


    Even as he pointed them out the enemy ship detached three, which wallowed heavily right in the Queen¡¯s flight path. He kicked the ascender, screwed the wheel over, and grit his teeth tight as the mines sunk from sight below and to his left. Seconds later, he heard a trio of cracking detonations, and when he glanced astern he saw fat, boiling clouds of flame that would only have licked his hull, but might have doomed the bag if he¡¯d been slower to react.


    Not to mention what all that burning fuel would do to everyone on deck. Horrible things.


    Something snapped past his head with a sharp sound: rifle shot. The Clear Skies ship had marines. When Jerl glanced up, he saw a number of small punctures in the bag above him, and the whispy blue smokelike lift gas leaking out. Shit.


    ¡°Marksman! We need to knock out her helm!¡± he shouted. It was a desperate idea, the odds of even the best rifleman being able to snipe the helmsman of one ship from the deck of another during a high speed chase while under fire was¡ª


    A black and brown blur thrummed past him at absurd speed, trailing the howl of a wychwethel. In slowed time, Jerl turned and watched aghast as Harad sprinted to the prow, out along the bowpsrit and leapt.


    There was a fundamental difference between humans and elves known as the Law of Form. A human could cast spells on other people, on the objects and phenomena around them, but the one thing a man¡¯s magic could never touch was himself. Elves were the other way around: when they channelled magic, they did so inwardly, reinforcing and pushing their bodies to explosive limits. Harad launched himself off the end of the bowsprit like a cannonball and flung himself out into the open sky with a complete disregard for his own safety, nor any thought for how to get back. He just¡­leapt, shot across the intervening gap, and landed in the other ship¡¯s upper rigging.


    Behind him, Jerl heard Sinikka curse in Feydh. Even to his Time-accelerated senses Harad was a blur as he swung down, down, down the rigging to deck level and became a whirl of shrieking steel amidst the Clear Skies marines, painting the deck in blood.


    Then he took his swords to their ropes.


    ¡°Crowns!¡± Gebby cursed in dismay. ¡°What¡¯s he¡ª?!¡±


    ¡°Something crazy!¡± Jerl cranked the wheel over and adjusted the engine angle: the deck lurched crazily as he wallowed down in their attacker¡¯s stern. Over on the other ship, Harad sliced up the Clear Skies attacker¡¯s rigging like unlacing a pair of boots, before sliding past a pistol shot to lop the enemy captain¡¯s head from his shoulders in a perfect, clean stroke. It was an elegant demonstration of just what elves could achieve against an unprepared human crew, but it was also impossible that Harad would survive this stunt unless Jerl could¡ª


    He could. There was a series of cracking sounds, rifle-loud and sharp as the last ropes gave way and the Clear Skies ship parted ways with its bag. Harad sprinted back along its sagging, suddenly plummeting deck, somehow ran along a near-vertical surface as though his feet were as sticky as a gecko¡¯s, then launched himself back into the open sky as though lobbed from a trebuchet.


    But the gap was just a little too far, and Harad was going to fall short. Not actually a fatal problem for an elf: skilled Fey war-adepts could land lightly from arbitrary heights. But going back for him would be¡ª


    Another blur, this one pale, shot out over the rail trailing a rope around her waist. At the last second, just as Harad was about to plunge down to the ground, Sinikka caught him by the wrist, his own fingers tightened around hers, and they swung down out of Jerl¡¯s sight below the Cavalier Queen.


    Some seconds later, a white-skinned hand came up over the rail and Sin vaulted back onto the deck over the starboard rail, then turned and helped Harad up. He was dripping in gore, painted with it, and panting heavily, but other than taking a second to breathe he seemed entirely unfazed by what he had just done.


    He stumped up to Jerl at the wheelhouse, drawing a clean cloth from his pocket to wipe his sword clean.


    ¡°Do you see, now?¡± he asked.


    ¡°See what?¡± Jerl asked.


    ¡°The difference between reaction and action.¡±


    ¡°¡­I think I¡¯ll meditate on your lessons after we¡¯re well away from here,¡± Jerl replied, coolly.


    ¡°Hrm. As you wish.¡±


    Harad turned and stalked away toward the head and the washing barrels kept there. Jerl shook his head, bemused, then looked around. ¡°Everyone okay?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Nobody hurt, skipper,¡± Gebby assured him.


    ¡°Mister Marren? How¡¯s the bag?¡±


    ¡°Couple¡¯a punctures, none major!¡± Andony called from up the rigging. ¡°We can patch in flight.¡±


    A bloody miracle, considering. If not for Time granting him a premonition, and if not for a suicidally daring elf¡­


    Well. They were aloft, away, and effectively intact. ¡°Good, ¡®cuz if we go back to Mehoom, they won¡¯t let us leave,¡± Jerl predicted. ¡°Gebby, you have the helm. I¡¯ll get back to you in a minute with our heading.¡±


    ¡°Steady as I go, aye aye.¡±


    Jerl moved to the stern and looked over the side. Below and behind them, their attacker¡¯s hull had already smashed into the grasslands a few miles from Mehoom, and was now nothing more than a collection of firewood and scrap metal at the end of a short teardrop crater. Her bag was gone entirely, probably drifting on the wind never to be seen again.


    Crowns. Sin had never done anything like that. Had Harad been driven by desperation, or competitive instinct? Or had that been a demonstration?


    Amir intruded in his thoughts with a tap on the shoulder. ¡°That was quite incredible all round,¡± he declared. ¡°Good flying.¡±


    ¡°Thanks. Are you okay?¡±


    ¡°A little thrown around, and bearing a nasty bruise on my shin for it.¡± Amir shrugged. ¡°Preferable to the alternative, I daresay. What was all that about with our new grim warrior?¡±


    ¡°He seems to think he has a lesson to teach me,¡± Jerl explained.


    ¡°What lesson?¡±


    ¡°He believes I¡¯m too passive.¡±


    ¡°¡­This must be some novel Fey definition of passivity with which I was hitherto unacquainted. And if leaping from one airship to another in the middle of a high-speed chase is his standard for dynamism, then I think I rather prefer you passive.¡± Amir shot the elf a thoughtful look. ¡°Why hire him? He seems¡­disagreeable.¡±


    ¡°He more sort of hired himself,¡± Jerl acknowledged.


    ¡°Ah. Exceedingly disagreeable, then.¡±


    Jerl bobble-shrugged his head. ¡°The first conversation we had was him trying to annoy me into leaving. The second was him ritually tearing into me and telling me what he thinks my flaws are. I¡¯m¡­really not sure what to make of him.¡±


    ¡°I trust him,¡± Mouse said.


    ¡°Crownspit!¡± Amir flinched. ¡°I do wish you would stop doing that!¡±


    ¡°And I wish you would stop forgetting me!¡± Mouse shot back.


    ¡°Believe me, I am not doing so intentionally!¡±


    ¡°I know! I¡¯m¡­.sorry. I¡¯m sorry. It¡¯s just getting frustrating.¡±


    ¡°No, no. Please forgive my outburst.¡± Amir straightened his kufi and exhaled to center himself. ¡°You were saying?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m saying I trust him. Harad. He¡¯s¡­there¡¯s a cold place deep in his mind, like a pit of ice. But it¡¯s not full of loathing, like Sin¡¯s is, or most of the other elves on the ship.¡± Mouse indicated their new R¨¹wyrdan crewmates. The elves were clearly somewhat bemused by how the remaining human crew were handling the aftermath of the fight. Up in the rigging, Marren and his team were joking and verbally scorching each other in between work shanties as they patched the bag. Some of the elves were wearing expressions of dire alarm as they overheard what must have seemed like mortal, unforgivable insults.


    ¡°They do seem a serious lot, don¡¯t they?¡± Amir agreed.


    ¡°Very. They¡¯re all¡­ashamed. Harad isn¡¯t, though.¡±


    ¡°But he¡¯s still a penitent?¡± Jerl asked. ¡°How does that work?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t really understand, yet. I think he¡¯s been waiting for something like this, though. A chance to, uh, bring others around to his way of thinking. I don¡¯t know exactly. But¡­I don¡¯t feel any deception in him. He¡¯s like a¡­¡± Mouse paused then, shot Jerl a conflicted look. ¡°He¡¯s like a more scarred and saddened version of you.¡±


    ¡°Ah. No wonder he rubs you the wrong way then, Jerl,¡± Amir nodded sagely. ¡°There is nothing worse than a version of yourself for getting under your skin.¡±


    ¡°Very profound¡­¡± Jerl muttered, feeling off-balance.


    ¡°One of Yngmir¡¯s. Anyway. I suppose we shall be sailing for the Oasis, now?¡±


    ¡°¡­.Maybe. One second.¡± Jerl turned to Mouse. ¡°Are you okay?¡±


    ¡°I swear I¡¯m losing control of this damn thing, not gaining it¡­¡± Mouse grumbled.


    ¡°You do still have the Word in your pocket,¡± Jerl pointed out. ¡°So long as it¡¯s on you, it¡¯s going to keep seeping in no matter¡ª¡±


    ¡°I know.¡± Mouse sighed. ¡°But if you want rid of it, we need to head down to Talvi, not over to the Oasis. ¡®Cuz you know what¡¯ll happen if I just chuck it overboard right now, don¡¯t you? Civorage will reclaim it.¡±


    Jerl nodded thoughtfully, giving some more thought to Harad. Okay. So. Activity, aggression. Action. Thus far, the plan had been to head to the Oasis and take counsel from Sayf. He had a tickling feeling of a future memory, so the meeting was definitely supposed to happen¡­


    But was he just reacting to his precognitions? Would he just be reacting to Mouse¡¯s needs if he sent them off course? Or was there an actual plan here?


    ¡°¡­How much of a detour would that entail?¡± he asked Amir.


    ¡°Not huge. The Oasis is some way around the arc of the worlds, we can swing outwards and down to find a suitably large gap if that is your objective. The tricky part will be dodging eclipse.¡±


    Jerl looked at Mouse and realized just how much tension was there. ¡°Okay. Let¡¯s be rid of the damn thing.¡±


    ¡°Jerl¡­others of us could use it,¡± Amir pointed out. ¡°The more of us do, the more of us are armed and protected against Civorage. Are you absolutely certain you want to throw away a weapon like that?¡±


    ¡°No. No I¡¯m not.¡± Jerl shook his head and turned to face him again. ¡°I¡¯m not certain of anything, Amir. I know I left myself a plan, and a trail to follow, but I don¡¯t really know what tomorrow brings, or who¡¯s going to have to die to make victory happen. I¡¯m¡­honest truth, mate, I¡¯m groping only barely less blind than I was before, for all my powers. The only thing I have to go on is my gut, and my gut says get rid of it. So that¡¯s what we¡¯re gonna do. And we¡¯re gonna do it right now.¡±


    Amir glanced at Mouse, then up over Jerl¡¯s shoulder, then back to look Jerl in the eye and nodded. ¡°I¡¯ll set the course,¡± he said, slipped past Jerl up to the wheelhouse, and was gone.


    Jerl turned to look at whatever he¡¯d glanced at, and realized Harad was watching him from the washtub. Elves had sharp ears in more than just the literal sense. He gave Jerl a nod, then went back to scrubbing off the blood.


    ¡­Okay. Enough of him. Jerl gave Mouse a small squeeze, grateful he was alright, then headed below decks to check with Derghan on the status of their engines. They had a long way to go, and he needed to be sure the Queen was in condition to handle it.


    After all: that was not going to be their last run-in with a hostile airship.


    <hr>


    <h2>Interlude: The Crown and Wheatsheaf Public House</h2>


    Auldenheigh, Enerlend, Garanhir Earthmote


    Serjant Jed Bothroyd of the Auldenheigh Constabulary was more tired today than he could remember being in all his life. An inevitable consequence of first being roused from his bed in the small hours of yesterday morning, and not since returning to it.


    His temper was, to put it mildly, frayed. And the public of his city continued to burn it just that little bit shorter with every passing hour.


    This time, it was manslaughter.


    ¡°So you hit him.¡±


    The guilty man in front of him was broad, ruddy-faced, fat around the gut but thick in the arm. A millworker, or some other such hard graft. Bothroyd could well imagine those thick-fingered fists would land like hammers, especially on a young man who didn¡¯t know how to take a hit¡­and now, would never get the chance to learn.


    ¡°It weren¡¯t right, what ¡®e said,¡± he tried to defend himself. Bothroyd wrote down his every word verbatim. ¡°¡®E said mebbe the Crowns approved o¡¯duchess bein¡¯ a witch. T¡¯were a wicked thing to say!¡±


    ¡°So you hit him.¡±


    ¡°I just wanted to learn ¡®im some respect! I didn¡¯t mean for ¡®im to fall an¡¯ crack ¡®is ¡®ead like that!¡±


    ¡°But you did hit him.¡±


    The millworker looked miserably down at the cobbles, and his head bounced up and down wretchedly. Bothroyd hummed, and wrote suspect agreed with accusation in his notebook.


    ¡°Right. You¡¯re arrested for manslaughter. D¡¯you ¡®ave your own lawyer?¡±


    The man shook his head. Tears dripped from his nose.


    ¡°Then you¡¯ll ¡®ave one appointed by magistrate for trial. Your bail ¡®earing will be tomorrer, most like. I were you, I¡¯d shut mouth and say no more until you¡¯ve ¡®ad chance to speak wi¡¯ lawyer. You understand?¡±


    The man nodded again.


    ¡°Alright. Load him in wagon, lads. Trot off smart, now, still lots to do¡­¡±


    Two constable took the weeping worker by his elbows and guided him up into a waiting caged wagon, where he was locked in alongside three other men arrested for riot, arson and looting. Stupid buggers, all.


    Crowns above, the smell of beer and good stew wafting out of the pub was maddening. When was the last time he¡¯d eaten? Yesterday, probably. And his last drink too, probably¡­


    ¡­To Shades with it. He needed to wet his whistle and unstick his belly from his backbone. So, he ambled inside, paid for a bowl and a beer, and settled into a corner where all of his aches seemed to slide off and forget him for a minute just at the simple pleasure of sitting down.


    Of course, it was too much to ask that he¡¯d be left alone today.


    ¡°Excuse me. Serjant?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m on break,¡± Bothroyd grunted, despite knowing perfectly well it wouldn¡¯t work. He didn¡¯t look up at the speaker, a young woman in a black coat.


    ¡°I know, and I am sorry. You do deserve this rest after all the hard work you and the rest of the constabulary have been putting in, but¡­this is important.¡±


    Bothroyd groaned and sat back. The woman was very comely, with lovely clean skin, a swell of magnificent auburn hair and an aquiline nose that made her strikingly handsome rather than beautiful. Not that Jed was much interested in a girl young enough to be his daughter, and besides she seemed terribly worried about something. Besides, her accent was old-city posh, upper crust.


    ¡°If you have a complaint or wish to report a crime to the constabulary, you can go down to precinct, miss¡­?¡±


    ¡°Countess Adrey Mossjoy.¡±


    ¡°¡­I apologize, ma¡¯am. I wasn¡¯t expectin¡¯ a woman o¡¯ your stature to frequent a public house like this.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m looking for you specifically, Serjant Bothroyd. May I sit?¡±


    ¡°Oh, my manners¡ª¡± Jed made to stand up, but the countess shook her head and pulled out her own seat to join him.


    ¡°No, no. Rest your legs.¡± She settled opposite him, glanced around, then withdrew a letter from her purse. ¡°This morning, I received this letter from¡­well, they identify themselves only as ¡®Darkdrake.¡¯ It names you specifically, and bids me show it to you as well.¡±


    Bothroyd frowned, twitched it out of her fingers, and read, tracing the words with his fingertip. He¡¯d never really mastered his letters as comfortably as some folk¡­


    But it was definitely from the Darkdrake.


    My dear Countess Adrey,


    Forgive me, my lady, that there is not enough room in this letter to explain what has happened, nor would it be prudent. I had hoped for some time to bring you into my confidence on certain matters, but the hour has lapsed sooner than I had feared.


    No doubt you are fretting for your friend the Duchess. You will be pleased to know she is safe, and has been removed to a place where she will remain safe for as long as she wishes which I suspect will not be long enough for those who care for her. You will hear many scurrilous accusations against her today and tomorrow. Let me give you some framing of the truth.


    She is indeed a witch. Do not listen to public scandal and rumor, as this is a sacred office and duty entrusted to her by the Crowns themselves. Indeed, it was King E?rrach himself who initiated and ascended her. Whatever shameful stories you may have heard about the Craft and its practitioners, please accept my assurance as a gentleman that they are grotesquely untrue, and truly baffling to those in the know. If my assurance is insufficient, then please consider your good friend and ask yourself whether she would ever be a fornicator and violator of minds as the worst mutterings would have it.


    As for your friend Lady Lisze, I fear she has come to a terrible harm, though you will not know it to see her. Her mind, I am sorry to report, has indeed been violated, and by the same most terrible foe whose assault caused such havoc last night. Indeed, I fear she was the tool of his attempt on Ellaenie¡¯s life.


    I appreciate this must be a painful blow to you, but Ellaenie has always spoken admiringly of you, and I have long considered you a very worthy friend to her.


    Please immediately seek out Serjant Jed Bothroyd of the constabulary and give him this letter to read. All will be made clear if you follow him¡­or at least, I pray that it will be so, as if not we are lost indeed.


    I remain, ma¡¯am, at your service and your family¡¯s,


    The Darkdrake.


    P.S. Jed my old friend, please grant her every courtesy and assistance. There is room at the old house for her if she desires it. I believe you still have the key. She is to have her pick of the library, though the place is rather cold. No doubt the fires will need lit.


    Best of luck to you, old friend.


    Bothroyd nodded as he deciphered the coded language in the postscript, committed it to memory¡­then cast it into the fire.


    ¡°What¡ª?¡± Countess Mossjoy nearly sprang to her feet, but it was too late: the paper was already curling up into an unreadable black mess.


    ¡°Burning the letter was one of his instructions to me,¡± Bothroyd explained. ¡°So. You¡¯re the duchess¡¯ lady-in-waiting, if I remember right?¡±


    ¡°I was, yes. She¡¯s¡­where has she gone?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know. To be frank, milady, I had no notion the Darkdrake were involved wi¡¯ witches an¡¯ the Craft at all, but I know ¡®im to be a good an¡¯ dutiful man. If he sez witchcraft has a worse reputation than it deserves, I believe ¡®im.¡±


    ¡°And..the old house?¡±


    ¡°Aye. If you¡¯ll please bear wi¡¯ me, milady, while I finish me victuals¡­I haven¡¯t had a bite since supper yesterday.¡±


    ¡°Oh, of course¡­¡±


    She sat and fidgeted as he ate. Bothroyd assessed her as he did so. There were a great many tears in the countess¡¯ recent past, he guessed. She had the look of somebody who¡¯d spent yesterday weeping, and become grimly resolved all at once. Good. Not that he¡¯d have expected the Darkdrake to pick a shrinking, fainting, useless girl¡­


    He was just finishing the last of his bread when a constable came looking for him. ¡°Serjant? The watch captain wants you down at Elmsbrey Place.¡±


    ¡°¡¯E¡¯ll have to wait,¡± Bothroyd replied. ¡°I¡¯ve ¡®ad orders.¡±


    "Cap''n said it was urgent, sarge.¡±


    ¡°Everything¡¯s bloody urgent today, lad. But my orders come from ¡®igher up than captain, so you go back an¡¯ say I¡¯m indisposed.¡±


    ¡°Yes, serjant.¡±


    Bothroyd stood. ¡°That¡¯s our cue to go where they don¡¯t know where I am,¡± he said, and remembered his manners this time to offer the countess a hand up.


    They climbed into a coin-carriage for the short ride to the old house, which was specifically Number Seventeen Pickler¡¯s Lane. Once upon a time, the town houses there had been lodging for cannery workers. Then the canneries had moved down to the riverfront, and the houses had been knocked together to halve their number but double their width, and they¡¯d become a popular address for modest gentry and merchants who weren¡¯t quite rich enough to join the Vathelan elite.


    Or, as the case may be, a good place for an inner-city lord to buy as a second address. Not that the Darkdrake had used his real name in purchasing it.


    Bothroyd unlocked the door with a key kept on his own keyring, and welcomed the countess inside.


    ¡°Alright. This should be a safe place to talk,¡± he said as he shut the door.


    ¡°Good. I¡¯m guessing the Darkdrake is Lord Gilber Drevin?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s right, milady. The study¡¯s upstairs here¡­¡¯Is lordship ¡®as summat he wants you to read.¡±


    Mossjoy looked around as they entered. It was a gentleman¡¯s study alright, stuffed carpet to ceiling with bookshelves. The shelves weren¡¯t over-packed, and lots of the space on them was taken by ornaments and knick-knacks. but Bothroyd knew the trick to opening one of them up to reveal a set of other shelves behind it.


    He pulled out the ¡°cold¡± box, the one for people only just being brought into the Darkdrake¡¯s circle of friends. He knew the trick to opening that, too, though not the others. Apparently the others were magical, somehow. Or maybe just really clever. Either way, he hadn¡¯t read their content, which wasn¡¯t for him to know.


    He removed the box¡¯s contents onto the desk. ¡°Lord Drevin meant ¡®fer you to read this. ¡®E wants to bring you in on ¡®is confidence, the duchess¡¯ spy network for the good of the realm. Exactly why in¡¯t ¡®fer me to say, milady. If you¡¯ll ¡®ave a read o¡¯ that lot, I need to get back to precinct before I¡¯m missed.¡±


    ¡°Will you be back?¡±


    ¡°Sayf¡¯s honest truth, milady, I¡¯m near to fallin¡¯ down dead on me feet. I¡¯ll be back tomorrer, but I¡¯ll let the housekeeper know she¡¯s a guest to look after.¡±


    Mossjoy nodded, then took a deep breath. ¡°¡­I¡­I am safe here, aren¡¯t I?¡±


    ¡°Safe as you can be in city at moment, milady.¡±


    ¡°¡­That¡¯s less reassuring than I had hoped.¡±


    ¡°I know. Grim times we¡¯re in. But for what it¡¯s worth, I worked wi¡¯ the Darkdrake for years now, an I don¡¯t think ¡®is lordship would put you in ¡®arm¡¯s way wi¡¯out cause or thought.¡±


    ¡°I just want to know what¡¯s going on!¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ll find the beginnings of it in that,¡± Bothroyd indicated the journals for her to read. ¡°As ¡®fer the rest¡­you¡¯ll find out when I find out.¡±


    ¡°¡­Thank you, Serjant.¡±


    ¡°Milady.¡± He touched his forelock, and tromped back down the stairs and out into the street. Crowns he was tired. But at the same time, suddenly energized. They weren¡¯t completely out of the fight after all, it seemed. Not yet.


    But it was going to be a long uphill battle to turn this loss around.


    ¡°Best get to it, Jed lad,¡± he muttered to himself, put his helmet back on, and strolled away down the street.


    Behind him, he knew, the countess was having her eyes opened.


    <hr>


    <blockquote>


    Perhaps the worst prejudice I had to overcome in my long travels was when I first met the Storm Clansmen of St¨®rsteinn. You will know one of these folk instantly should you meet them, for their hair is wild and braided, their limbs and bodies tattooed with unsettling runes, and men, women and children alike darken around their eyes with a black powder. They are fearsome to look at, proud of their prowess in battle, grim and confrontational, and train their girls and women for war alongside the men and boys. I confess I thought them brutes at first¡­until I heard their singing and their bowed harps. Then I saw they do not arm their women because they love the sword, but because they see no reason why any should be helpless when the swords inevitably come. ¡ªPrince Ruber of Valai, My Travels


    </blockquote>


    <h2>Over the Edge</h2>


    Airship Cavalier Queen, the Unbroken Earthmote, Talvi 09.06.03.09.05


    Two weeks of flight yielded no further attacks, though no doubt a large part of that was Jerl¡¯s directions to give every other ship in the sky a wide berth. Still, they settled into the happily dull routine of a voyage, and Jerl was pleased to find his much-upended crew knitting together well. At first, the humans had eyed the elves with the testing hostility of seasoned hands taking on a clutch of lubberly novices, while the elves had eyed the humans with the indignation of the very old being judged by the very young. Mutual suspicion had crackled between them for three days.


    Thank the Crowns for Mouse, who had (when the crew remembered he existed) a way of finding the perfect ice-breaker, leading the perfect song, saying the perfect thing to defuse tension. By the end of the third day, the first jokes and smiles had started cracking. By the end of the week, all the shanties and songs had been shared, and the crew was really starting to knit together.


    It would still take a while longer, of course. But Jerl was content that things were going in the right direction at a decent clip.


    And of course, at night he had Mouse¡¯s company in his cabin. And there was not much room on his bed. So cramped was it, in fact, that they were forced to sleep cuddled together, big and little spoon.


    What a terrible hardship.


    Life, in fact, was turning out rather well for the moment. And now, two weeks out from Mehoom, he was standing on the prow, wrapped in his warmest fur-collared leather coat, and feeling the Talvian breeze play on his cheeks.


    Last time he¡¯d been down here, the cold had bit his bones. He remembered that dark, awful first go around, that encounter with Civorage amidst eclipse, shades and bloody snow. He¡¯d remembered feeling the cold seep into him, and through him, until it seemed like his very marrow froze and he¡¯d been forced to stumble along on worryingly numb toes, until Queen Talvi had restored him and suddenly the bitter chill had become¡­different. Not only tolerable, but almost pleasant and refreshing.


    It seemed her gift lingered still. Far from biting his skin, the freezing breeze reminded him of throwing wide the window of a stuffy stale-aired room and breathing in that first fresh gust. The wind carried the scent of pine trees up to him, and indeed the Queen was sailing over a seemingly endless forest of them, so wide in every direction that Jerl could actually see its edges curling up around him in the distance.


    Well¡­not in every direction. The horizon ahead was abruptly curtailed, and the wind was coming from behind now, blowing them in that direction.


    Sin certainly seemed to be enjoying the cold. Up in the Sayfi earthmotes, her skin had been constantly sheened with perspiration, her clothes had stuck clammily to her, and her hair had always been damp. As an Ithfey, she hated hot weather. Now, she was parading around in the same shirt and breeches as ever, and looking quite comfortable while the rest of the crew labored in coats and scarves and gloves.


    The rest, that was, except for Derghan. He too still had his sleeves rolled up and his head bare, and seemed to be quite pleased by the change of climate. Jerl found him sitting on deck with Whisker, trading whisky and stories.


    Whisker, in turn, looked very much improved.


    ¡°Fresh air¡¯s doin¡¯ me good, I can feel it,¡± he declared, toasting Jerl. His whisky was in the form of a hot toddy, clasped in gloved fingers, and he was wrapped in a blanket still, but he no longer looked the complete invalid he¡¯d been before.


    ¡°I¡¯m glad,¡± Jerl declared, and nodded gratefully when Whisker offered to pour another hot toddy for him. ¡°I don¡¯t know what Mouse would have done if we¡¯d lost you.¡±


    ¡°That lad of mine¡¯s tough as teak,¡± Whisker declared, proudly.


    ¡°Who? Oh! Right. Fuck.¡± Derghan shook his head as through trying to dislodge something. ¡°He¡¯s so skinny, though. What''d you feed him on growing up, water and apples?¡±


    ¡°Near enough. We came from poor, and didn¡¯t get rich ¡®til he was already full grown.¡±


    ¡°I like him skinny,¡± Jerl declared.


    ¡°Aye, well. If I weren¡¯t missing half a lung, you and I would be having stern words about you and my boy,¡± Whisker commented, in a growl that was more playful than serious.


    Derghan snorted. ¡°You Garanese¡­¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Where I¡¯m from, being shot in the chest wouldn¡¯t stop the father,¡± Derghan chuckled. ¡°Men with men is¡­not well understood among the St¨®rsteinn-klanerne.¡±


    Jerl and Whisker¡¯s eyes met, and the understanding passed between them that they were both slightly amused by Derghan¡¯s ignorance, but they weren¡¯t going to spill Mouse¡¯s secret to him either.


    ¡°It¡¯s not generally well-received on Garanhir either, mate,¡± Jerl told him instead. ¡°We¡¯re a credulous and tight-minded folk when we want to be.¡±


    ¡°Bullshit! I¡¯ve never met a Garanese who didn¡¯t have a mind as wide open as the sky.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s because you¡¯ve only met airshipmen, mate.¡± Jerl stretched until his shoulders popped. ¡°I¡¯m from Cantre myself, and Enerlenders have a reputation for being so far up their own arse they can eat their breakfast a second time.¡±


    ¡°The Cantrese meanwhile have a reputation for shagging their sheep ¡®cuz they¡¯re prettier than the women,¡± Whisker added, his face wrinkling in a dark smile.


    ¡°Eh, that¡¯s just ordinary banter,¡± Derghan said. ¡°You should have heard what the Vargurssons said about some of the other Clans.¡±


    ¡°Banter it may be, but the bit about Enerlenders is true enough,¡± Whisker opined. ¡°We¡¯re a people who thrive on a good scandal. It¡¯s all gossip, gossip, gossip. Good for business in my line of work, but downright lethal if it turns your way all of a sudden. Just look what happened to the duchess.¡±


    ¡°Duchess? I thought Enerlend had a duke?¡± Derghan asked.


    ¡°The duchess before him, young Ellaenie. Nineteen years old or thereabouts on the day she vanished, eight years ago. Popular myth has it she was involved in witchcraft, black magic so foul the Crowns put a stop to it. It¡¯s said Rheannach herself tore her palace apart.¡±


    ¡°¡­Well that¡¯s a bowl of buttery shit if I ever heard one. And people believe that?¡±


    ¡°More than don¡¯t,¡± Whisker shrugged. ¡°So you see, the Enerlish are at least as credulous and tight-minded as any other folk, maybe more. It takes travel and really seeing the world to open most people up.¡±


    Jerl nodded in agreement.


    ¡°Anyway.¡± Whisker clapped Jerl on the shoulder. ¡°I need a job. At this point, lying around in that sickbed with nothing to do is going to kill me more than the lung will. The lung already missed its chance, I think.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know what we have that suits your skills. I¡¯ve already got a quartermaster, and she¡¯s damn good at her job. And Ju-Wi¡¯s the best cook we¡¯ve ever had.¡±


    ¡°A waste of her talents too, that. But I¡¯ve been giving thought to this, and I¡¯ve got an idea for you.¡± Whisker sat up a bit. ¡°You have a problem. There¡¯s no such thing as a safe port for this ship any more. Wherever we go, the Oneists and Clear Skies will find us. Even Mehoom wasn¡¯t safe.¡±


    ¡°True¡­¡±


    ¡°Now, here¡¯s something unique we have that might just make a safe haven possible. We have two navigators. Both of whom know messaging spells. Meaning one of them can leave the ship and set up somewhere that moves around, and let the other know where it is.¡±


    ¡°Like a wandering isle!¡± Jerl broke into a grin.


    ¡°Exactly. It¡¯s a shame the idea only came to me after we¡¯d parted ways with Cerkos and his family, but if we can create a home port for ourselves that the enemy¡¯ll have a bastard of a time finding¡­among other things, it¡¯d let me set up business again. Start putting out feelers, get in touch with my contacts. You¡¯ll have a spy network.¡±


    ¡°I like the sound of that¡­maybe we can find Cerkos again?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s a bit far-fatched, given the whole point of this plan is that Wandering Isles are difficult to find.¡±


    ¡°True, but we have a couple of advantages there. Not least of which is that I intend to speak with a Crown soon enough. Maybe Sayf will be willing to point us in the right direction.¡±


    ¡°Maybe¡­and if not, any Isle with a family inn on it would do. It¡¯ll be a mutually beneficial arrangement: they get permanent lodgers and business, we get a safe harbor and base of operations¡±


    ¡°They also get dragged into our conflict,¡± Derghan pointed out.


    ¡°They¡¯re in our conflict regardless, whether they know it or not. Everybody is,¡± Jerl said. ¡°Civorage wants everyone.¡±


    ¡°Won¡¯t be easy convincing them of that,¡± Whisker pointed out.


    ¡°I know. But we must. You¡¯re not the first person to tell me we need to start building a power base and taking the fight to Civorage, Harad¡¯s been badgering me about it as well. And he¡¯s right. We can¡¯t keep running away. We need to be preparing and planning for the moment when we turn and fight back.¡±


    Whisker nodded. ¡°It¡¯s a little early, I¡¯d say. But I agree in principle.¡±


    ¡°Good. Then¡ª¡±


    ¡°Jerl!¡±


    Mouse came trotting up the steps to join them. He leaned in to give his dad a squeeze, then one for Jerl, then took a surprisingly shaky and nervous breath. ¡°We¡¯re here,¡± he said. ¡°We¡¯ve arrived.¡±


    Jerl leaned over and glanced over the side. Below, the frost-strewn dark trees grew right up to and even slightly over the edge of a titanic five-mile cliff¡­and below that, only the endless haze of the air, and the black nothing of Outside.


    It was time to be rid of Mind.


    <hr>

 Chapter 9: Hard Lessons (part 2)

    They gathered on the prow, having sailed the Queen out far enough over the infinite black that there was no possible way any air current could blow the stolen box back onto land, or even leave it wedged precariously in some crack or crevice of the edge cliff.


    It was a precarious position for an airship. Air sank here, pushing out of the worlds and into the Outside. Jerl knew the navigators guessed that the great bubble of air around them was hundreds of thousands, perhaps millions of miles across, but it was ever-expanding, and ever added-to by the sun¡¯s constant off-gassing and creation of new air, new water, new dust and sand. The pressure from above, and the lower pressure below, meant the engines were turning over at a slow thrust while aimed upwards, just to hold them steady.


    Without engines, they could never have come here at all. Sail ships that strayed too faar out down here and got caught in that constant air current were doomed. Even now, they were trusting to Derghan¡¯s good maintenance and their supply of fuel.


    Best not to linger, therefore. But there was a conversation to hold beforehand.


    ¡°So. We¡¯re determined to do this,¡± Whisker checked. ¡°We¡¯re throwing away a powerful tool, here.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s exactly why we¡¯re throwing it away,¡± Jerl said. ¡°Losing it has weakened Civorage, I¡¯m sure of it. This way, he¡¯ll never get his strength back. The wound becomes permanent.¡±


    ¡°Far be it for me to ignore the power of a permanent wound¡­¡± Whisker joked, then coughed into his sleeve. ¡°But still. Others of us could use it. If we¡¯re going up against the man who¡¯s held this power for ten years, surely it would be best if we outnumber him?¡±


    ¡°Maybe,¡± Jerl agreed. ¡°But¡­we already do outnumber him. I have Time. Mouse has Mind. And the plan going forward is to find more of the Words, use them, and discard them in turn. We shouldn¡¯t fill up on just one power, we need to be ready to expand our arsenal.¡±


    ¡°Besides¡­¡± Mouse added. ¡°I¡­don¡¯t want to inflict this on you. Mind isn¡¯t easy. It¡¯s deafening, sometimes. And there are people here I wouldn¡¯t trust with that power.¡±


    The crew, elf and human alike, looked around at each other. Some were clearly a little offended, others wondering who he meant, others still nodding in agreement. Jerl¡¯s was most emphatic among these last. There were several on the crew he¡¯d trust with his life but never with his, or anyone else¡¯s, mind. Mouse¡¯s acquiring the word had been gamble enough.


    In the midst of all the confusion and looking aside, Mouse drew the box from his pocket and flung it overboard.


    Several people shouted and darted to the rail, but it was too late. The box plummeted away, swiftly becoming invisible against the uninterrupted haze and void, and was gone.


    ¡°There. Decision made.¡± Mouse looked around, daring anyone to object. There were a few who would have liked to, Jerl thought¡­but then his eyes fell on Harad, who was standing at the back. The tall and sturdy elf was smiling.


    ¡°Alright,¡± Jerl declared, addressing the whole crew. ¡°There¡¯s no more argument to be had here. What¡¯s done is done.¡±


    ¡°Not for you it isn¡¯t,¡± Ju-Wi pointed out. ¡°You have the power to undo that.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not something I¡¯ll ever do lightly,¡± Jerl told her. ¡°I¡¯ve only done it once so far, and it wiped out the good and the bad of what happened. So here and now¡­this is the decision we¡¯re living with. And for my part, it¡¯s one I wholeheartedly agree with. Now let¡¯s get back up to warmer and less treacherous air. Our next stop is the Oasis.¡±


    ¡°And after that?¡± Harad asked.


    ¡°After that,¡± Jerl said, and took a deep breath. ¡°¡­After that¡­we start building an empire. Now, everybody man your stations. Let¡¯s get moving.¡±


    They jumped to. Derghan vanished below decks, Amir and Gebby went to the helm with a fresh flight plan, Marren and the riggers returned to their usual haunt around the bottom of the main mast. In seconds, the deck was empty. Jerl looked up and to starboard, and after a few seconds of searching his eye found the tiny, comma-shaped speck that was the Oasis, the home of Prince Sayf himself.


    He wondered how different he really was to Queen Talvi. All the stories painted him as practically her exact opposite, but he hoped that was untrue. Talvi had been unexpectedly warm and kind, after all.


    In any case, of the two Crowns he knew how to find, Sayf was the closer. Talvi¡¯s palace was far, far away now, and Jerl wasn¡¯t sure he¡¯d ever meet her again.


    The engines changed angle and spun up, the deck swayed as the Queen lurched, and Jerl spared one glance over the side again, down toward infinity and wherever that box was going. Good riddance, he decided. He wasn¡¯t at all sure what the future held¡­but if there was one thing he was determined of, it was that nobody else would gain Mind. Not if he had a choice. Two was quite enough.


    With a grim nod, he returned to his cabin to update the log and enjoy some warmer air.


    He felt pretty good.


    <hr>


    <h2>Interlude: Limbo</h2>


    Neither time, nor place


    Ekve was a little girl.


    Her name was Leisena, and she lived with mama and papa in a small house outside the Masters¡¯ walls. Sometimes, the leather collar around her throat itched and hurt and choked her, but Mama said they couldn¡¯t take it off or the Masters would be angry, and she just had to get used to it.


    She played outside when the weather was nice and the evil dark wasn¡¯t around. She liked to sing, and everyone said she had a pretty singing voice.


    Eventually, one of the Masters said so too. She told Leisena that she was buying her and taking her to the palace to entertain the Emperor himself. Leisena didn¡¯t understand why mama and papa were so sad.


    The palace was amazing. They dressed her nice, washed her, did her hair up like one of the Masters, and even gave her jewels and gold to wear. They even took her collar off, and said she¡¯d never need it again. It felt so good when they took it off¡­


    Then she was given to a teacher who taught her how to sing better than she¡¯d ever sung before. Eventually, her teacher said she was ready, and Leisena was dressed better than she¡¯d ever been, with makeup and facepaint just like one of the Masters.


    They took her to a party. She¡¯d never seen so many of the Masters in one place, and she didn¡¯t really understand what they were doing. Many of them had no clothes on, and were hugging and moving against each other in strange ways that made her feel weird so she didn¡¯t look at them.


    When Leisena was taken up on a high stage to sing, they clapped and whistled for her. She sang her very best, and felt so proud and happy. It was the best she¡¯d ever done, the best singing she could do!


    But there was one Master, the Empress Ekve herself, who sat on a high seat with her chin in her hand and a chalice in the other hand, looking powerful and beautiful, and listened as Leisena sang with a soft, strange smile playing on her face. After the fifth song, another Master approached and whispered in the Empress¡¯ ear.


    The Empress¡¯ smile widened, and she said something in reply, watching Leisena with an expression the young girl couldn¡¯t read. The whisperer looked up and gestured, and suddenly Leisena was grabbed roughly, dragged across the room, and tied down on a large table in the middle of the party.


    They did things to her she didn¡¯t understand, that made her feel strange and ashamed and scared. Then they did things that hurt, and laughed when she screamed and begged them to stop. They cut her. They stretched and bent her. They broke her. And they thanked her for making such pretty music for their entertainment.


    Leisena screamed until her throat hurt, until her voice was gone and she could do nothing more than squeak like a mouse, and then not even that. All she could do was suffer, and wish it would stop¡­please stop¡­


    Eventually, they did. By then the pain had started to go away on its own, and they stepped back to watch her, smiling and whispering to each other. A face came close, a beautiful, smiling face. The Empress. She kissed Leisena, and said she loved her, and licked the blood and tears from her trembling cheek¡­and said goodbye.


    Leisena didn¡¯t understand what she meant by that. She was so tired, now. So sleepy¡­


    She just wished her mama was there.


    <hr>


    Ekve was a baker¡¯s apprentice.


    His name was Boran, and he worked hard in the Masters¡¯ kitchens, baking the finest white bread for their tables and feasts. Baking was a passion and an art, a science. The precision and minuteness of measuring out the perfect amount of flour and water, and the perfect amount from the sour dough. The perfect rise, the perfect knead and bake¡­Boran was one of the lucky few who found joy in his work. The journeyman baker spoke highly of him, praised him for his skill, and even the Masters said the occasional kind word to him.


    Then the famine came.


    Boran never learned the why of it. Unseasonal dryness out in the wheat-growing lands, or some such. Or a blight, perhaps, or a plague of insects. Whatever the truth, there was little flour, and little else besides.


    The Masters of course continued to eat well. The kine¡­did not. And Boran had a wife and two boys. He could not bear to see their ribs so, could not bear the temptation of working with so much food, so much plenty so close to hand¡­


    What harm if he made the loaves just a little smaller? What harm if he took just enough from each one for an extra loaf, that he could smuggle out to his family at close of day?


    What harm?


    Now, he stood on the sand, naked for all to see and armed with a battered, notched and too-much-used spear, shoulder to shoulder with other slaves, man and woman, young and old, all made equal in their lack of dignity.


    They were here to fight for their freedom, proclaimed the arena master. But Boran knew who the pale figure in front of them was, his own lithe and well-muscled body barely less naked than the slaves¡¯, adorned as he was only by a harness of dark leather and brass studs. A show of contempt for the possibility that these wretches might harm Bomirdd, the most infamous and feared fighter in the arena. Or perhaps a way of showing off the sleekly oiled perfection of his form in contrast to all these lumpen, wretched slaves.


    All Boran¡¯s teacher¡¯s pleas had been for naught, all his argument for mercy, pointing out that sending the apprentice to this end would only rob the Masters¡¯ table of his exquisite baking, had fallen on deaf ears. The Emperor himself had decreed no mercy for thieves in this time of strife.


    ¡°Form up, everyone,¡± the old man said. Boran had never learned his name, but he was a soldier of some kind. One of the legions who¡¯d been sent to war against another city¡¯s legions because the Masters said so. He¡¯d come back alive, so probably his side had won. ¡°Form up, and let¡¯s see if we can¡¯t give the Laughing Death a mark to remember us by.¡±


    Boran swallowed, and nodded, and hefted his spear. It felt heavy and ungainly in his hands, like its end was too heavy. But he was strong from years of kneading dough. He felt he could use it well enough. Not like the poor boy who could barely lift his.


    Together, they formed a tight prickly knot, spears leveled at the elf¡¯s chest. Bekhil laughed, a bright and oddly merry sound. Boran had always imagined the Laughing Death¡¯s mirth would have a brittle edge of madness in it but¡­no. Bomirdd seemed genuinely happy they were there, and genuinely delighted to face them.


    He raised his wychwethel. Even that small movement made it thrum in the air.


    ¡°You who are about to die!¡± he called. ¡°I salute you!¡±


    Then he blurred. A flash of pale skin shot away to Boran¡¯s right.


    Boran lost his balance, for some reason. He fell down and hit his head hard in the sand. Something heavy fell down next to him, something that sprayed hot red liquid all over his face.


    It took him the rest of his life to figure out that¡­his head¡­


    No¡­


    <hr>


    Ekve was a miner.


    His name was Rishi, and his hands hurt, all day, every day.


    But still he worked.


    His back too, and his knees, and his feet. But still he worked. Toiled in the dark for years, and years, sleeping in the mine, coming up only rarely when gas claimed the men lower down and they needed to let it clear. Then he¡¯d go back inside, and pull out his friends¡¯ bodies.


    When his lungs started to hurt, he still worked. When he had coughing fits, which was often, they brought up a black sticky mess from deep inside his chest.


    But still he worked.


    But he couldn¡¯t work so well any more. His hands wouldn¡¯t grip the stones so well, his back twinged and spasmed preventing him from moving. His knees were constant grinding agony. He slowed down. He stopped producing as much.


    They beat him. That in itself was not new or unusual, he¡¯d been beaten before. but this time was fiercer, harder. And yet, somehow, the blows didn¡¯t land so strongly. He felt almost numb to them, now, as though all the scars on his back had combined into a thick callous like armor. As they whipped, they told him, and called out to the other miners, that the Emperor had decreed a righteous war against the upstart Fey of Vathwychen, and that this mine¡¯s output was needed to keep the loyal soldiers armed and armored.


    Rishi promised to work harder, and he tried to keep that promise. Truly, he did. But he was too weak, too broken. And the coughing was getting worse.


    One day, he had a coughing fit that went on, and on, and on. He couldn¡¯t stop himself, he couldn¡¯t breathe. It was like his lungs themselves were rebelling and trying to climb up out of his chest. His head swam, his ribs were on fire, his body heaved and spasmed and shook with the endless, wracking cough¡­


    Until he blacked out.


    He woke in the valley, a ways down the hill from the mine. Naked in a ditch, alongside bones and the sweet stench of rotting meat. A skull stared him in the eye, still covered in the wriggling white things that were eating the last of its mouldering flesh.


    He coughed. He tried to move. Tried to crawl away from that pit, but though his spirit clawed for life, to escape and go somewhere, anywhere else, though his one prayer and wish in all the world was to die somewhere other than that terrible gruesome mass grave¡­he could not. He made it perhaps a quarter of the way up the slope, then coughed, and coughed, and coughed again, and there was no more strength in him.


    He lay there and dreamed of somewhere soft and warm and pleasant, where the sun didn¡¯t burn and the air didn¡¯t stink, and where men could stand straight and tall under the open sky.


    And he never moved again.


    <hr>


    Ekve was a mother.


    Her name was Lusa, and her family was being relocated. She didn¡¯t know the details, only that the Emperor had declared there were too many Kine here and needed to be more there. At first when she¡¯d heard the news, Lusa had been terrified of being separated from her husband and children, but the Masters had been kind and kept families together.


    Supposedly, they were going to work good farmland in a place called Valai, hidden-land. They¡¯d walked for weeks, and her fears of a terrible forced march had proven further unfounded. Far from walking with whips at their backs and leaving those who stumbled where they fell, the pace was gentle, and the provisions good. As they marched, the slaves sang. At end of day, as they camped and ate, they began to speak eagerly of the farming in Valai and the pretty landscape they were entering.


    It was beautiful, Lusa agreed. High mountains of yellow-gray stone that rose steeply all around them, their slopes speckled with grazing goats and beautiful with bright flowers. Between them were wide, flat grass valleys and meandering rivers whose waters were a crystal blue quite unlike anything she¡¯d seen before.


    A wonderful land for her children to grow up in, far from the dirt and squalor of the city.


    Eventually they came to a compound, high walls of split logs atop an earthwork, with another wall inside. They marched through twinned gates into an open space, and Lusa wondered why this was necessary.


    An elf stood at the gate, watching the marching column. now and again, he would tap a slave on the shoulder and direct them through a smaller gate behind him.


    He tapped Lusa on the shoulder. ¡°You, through there.¡±


    ¡°Yes, Master.¡± The reply was rote. To question the order, to ask ¡®why¡¯ would only result in a beating. She would be told why when the time was right. Lusa squeezed her husband¡¯s hand, smiled at her daughters and sons, and obeyed.


    At first, there was no readily apparent reason for the space beyond. It was the other half of the walled compound, apparently, the half hidden from sight to those arriving in the other side. For some reason it had been excavated, dug down to five times a tall man¡¯s height or deeper, though the near end was a shallow enough slope to walk up.


    The only other entrance was a wide door, built into a large stone barn that pierced through the dividing wall. The other slaves were lined up there, and Lusa joined them. Something prickled at her now, some feeling that something was terribly, terribly wrong.


    She glanced up at the tall, bald man beside her and saw her fears echoed in his expression.


    Then the barn doors opened, and Lusa¡¯s own shocked cry was lost behind the blood thump-pounding in her ears now. Before them lay a family, much like her own. A man, a woman, five children¡­all dead. Their throats were cut open clear to the bone.


    An elf-captain in thick metal armor patrolled past them, the plumes on the helmet under his arm wagging in the breeze. ¡°Slaves,¡± he announced, raising his voice. ¡°Bury the dead.¡±


    None of the slaves moved. They were all too shocked, to dismayed, too¡­lost. After a moment, the elf scowled, and there was a sharp thrum as his Wychwethel jumped from its sheath, howled through the air, and struck a woman near the front of the row dead, right through the chest.


    ¡°Bury the dead,¡± he repeated, chillingly calm.


    The slaves obeyed. What choice did they have? Lusa found herself struggling with the weight of a young man, maybe eighteen years old. His body was skinny and light, but he was still so heavy¡­


    With the help of another woman, she carried him down into the pit and lay him down, on his back, his hands resting crossed on his chest. Then back up the slope, to the door, which was now closed.


    Minutes later it opened again, and there were more dead to bury.


    So it went. For hours, and hours, and hours. Lusa tired quickly, her clothes stuck to her where the blood soaked in, her feet chilled where she stepped in the water used to sluice the death room¡¯s flagstones between times. Soon, she was no more thinking than a waterwheel or sawmill. Her body lumbered heavily through the work, while her mind did nothing at all. She was not Lusa, for now. She was¡­she was an obedient slave doing hard work.


    Until she looked down at the tiny body in her arms, and the idle realization that its face was familiar reminded her to be Lusa again.


    She was holding her own son.


    She stopped working. She stood still, but she didn¡¯t weep. She just looked down into her child¡¯s pale, bloodless, dead face. Somebody shouted at her, but she paid it no heed. The shouting got louder, angrier, but she didn¡¯t care.


    Then somebody roughly grabbed her chin from behind. There was a flash of steel, sharp icy cold-hot-pain in her throat, and blood splashed across her boy¡¯s peaceful, freckled face which grew dim and small and far away as though glimpsed through a deep-set dirty window¡­


    With the last of her strength, she drew her little boy¡¯s body to her chest, and lay down in the grave alongside her family.


    <hr>


    Ekve was an old man.


    His name was Jarun, and he prayed to the Crowns every night to bring some end to this madness.


    Somewhere out there, he knew, was Raksuul and the haven she had made for those who escaped. He kept a carved effigy of her whittled from wood, and slept with it under his pillow. It was equal parts a symbol of hope, and the mark by which he could identify those walking his hidden path.


    Jarun was too old to escape, but there was hope for others. Younger men and women, families. People willing to dare the danger of being caught and slaughtered, for the hope of fleeing the so-called ¡¯Masters¡¯ and their insanity. He was a waypoint on their journey, a safe house where they could rest a night before moving on to the next.


    Such rest as it was, anyway. A tiny hole under his floorboards where people could pack in like a litter of kittens and endure the daylight hours until cover of night returned and opened the way to the next safe house for them.


    But he had sent his final family on their way last night, for they had carried terrible news, and a plea: ¡°Come with us. They¡¯re on our trail, they¡¯ll find you. Escape with us, come and see Raksuul.¡±


    He had said no. He was old, and lame, and slow. To go with them would be to kill them. So today he sat on his favorite stool next to the fire, ate the last of his good food, and turned the little icon of Raksuul back and forth between his fingers. His only regret was that he would never get to see her beauty in person.


    The other hand was wrapped around the handle of a dagger, the mere ownership would have got him executed years ago had it been found. Slaves were not allowed to own weapons.


    There was a crash at the door. No knock, no call, no warning sound of booted feet. Just a heavy impact that smashed the flimsy wood to splinters. An elf in dark armor surged through, with five more beside him, but his expression fell as he locked eyes with Jarun and saw what he was preparing to do. As Jarun smiled at him, he launched himself forward across the room with a cry of ¡°Nay!¡±


    But he was too late.


    Jarun drove the dagger into his own heart, and with his last breath, he spat blood in the slave-hunter¡¯s dismayed face.


    In the fire behind him burned all the evidence the elves had sought that would have led them to the next station.


    <hr>


    Ekve was Ekve, living life after life after life. First one, then a second, then he lost count. He lived each one in full, its every memory, every moment, every hope and dream and fear and wish and experience.


    His name was Leisena, and it was Boran. He was Rishi, and Lusa, and Jarun. He was Bor, Amily, Lemna, Adias, Lodar, his sister Losira, Endja, Hati, Quend, Samri, Etisha, Carow, Mar, Nistuj, Evest, Zolo, Fara, and a million more, tens of millions more.


    He lived every single one. Every life snuffed out by his command. Every single death and instant of unjust suffering for which he was even tangentially responsible. Every second, minute, and year, in full, whether the life was long or short. He was them, and yet a passenger in them. He felt all they felt, knew all they knew, thought all they thought¡­


    And yet he was still Ekve.


    His soul endured the agonies of his own making for a billion years compressed down into weeks. His defiance flickered and collapsed after only the first life. After the second, he regretted. After the third, he would have begged for mercy if he could. After the fourth he hated.


    His hate snapped wildly around, refusing to find a home in any single thing. At first he hated the villain of each piece, each slavemaster, each weak kine who sold out his fellow slaves for a crumb from the master¡¯s table, each torturer and mine foreman and arena master. Each one, in each life, earned his ire, one by one, but none of them kept it for the next life¡¯s villain was always just as terrible or worse...or might sometimes even be the previous life themself, whose perspective Ekve now knew intimately.


    Then his anger turned to the kine themselves. The wansuulen, shattersouls, the wights, the humans. Damn them for their weakness and insignificance! Damn them for vanishing where the chosen race endured! Why should he care what some silly little girl who¡¯d have aged and died in an eyeblink felt anyway?


    Then his hate was on the crowns, for putting him through this. They¡¯d made him! The four of them were responsible for elfkind, and humankind! They could have stepped in at any time and set them right if they disapproved, but they had not. For thousands of years they had quietly endorsed all that death, all that pain and misery, by standing aside and letting it happen.


    Then, slowly, his hate was on himself. Because as life after life both flashed by and were experienced in their entirety, he came to realize¡­he could have stopped this too. At any time, he could have come to his senses. Whether empress or emperor, Ekve could have changed the course of the worlds if only he¡¯d had the good sense to understand that humans, too, were people.


    And there, finally, it remained, until it matured and pupated into loathing, then grief, then a terrible hollow despair¡­


    And guilt. Complete guilt that only grew deeper and deeper and deeper until the pit of regret inside him seemed infinitely deep and impossible to ever fill. Until, finally, he saw himself for what he was.


    Ekve was a monster.


    And still the lives went on, and on and on. He wallowed for an eternity in his cringing guilt, unable to become hardened to it, unable to grow any more raw. The pain of every last one scraped across him like wind-blown sand on flayed flesh, withering him away until nothing remained at all.


    And still it went on.


    And on.


    And ever on.


    Until he reached the end, and had experienced all the suffering he had ever inflicted. Every last second.


    And there had been so much of it.


    He opened his eyes. He had a body again, the same body he¡¯d worn before, naked to the air as when he¡¯d woken up in his palace, a barely-remembered millions of lifetimes ago. And he was back¡­here. Here, on the first earthmote, the place where a million elves and a million humans had been woven from dust and wind together on that very first day, neither one suspecting what the future held for them. He drew breath with brand new lungs and felt it shudder into his chest as though his body didn¡¯t deserve to breathe. It left him in gulps and gasps and sobs and he collapsed to his knees, felt his skin threaten to tear as he ground his fingers and palms into the gritty dirt below him. He felt his stomach churn and refuse to vomit, for it was empty.


    He felt an unfathomably heavy hand on his shoulder.


    He looked up. A brutishly handsome face, chestnut skin framed by a shaggy mane of wild dark hair, with bewitching emerald eyes that watched him with endless compassion and sorrow.


    The lord of all power deigned to sit down cross-legged on the ground next to him, bare-skinned together as they had been so long ago, at the start of all things. ¡°Do you see, now?¡± King E?rrach asked.


    ¡°¡­Yes.¡±


    ¡°Do you see why I have let you live, rather than destroy you? Do you understand the purpose behind your purgation?¡±


    Tears rained down Ekve¡¯s nose. ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°What do you see, Ekve?¡±


    ¡°Life is¡­it¡¯s so sacred. And I destroyed so much of it¡­¡± He drew his knees up and curled into them, unable to give proper voice to the depths of his shame. There were no words. There could not be words. Not for a crime of this order. Not for remorse on this infinite scale. He could never make right all he had done, and he knew it.


    ¡°Yes, it is. And yes, you did.¡±


    There was a long silence, then E?rrach took him by the shoulders, pulled him into his lap, and drew him into a hug. Thick, brawny arms and legs wrapped themselves around him, bulging with obscene strength as the vast muscles of his hulking body corded up like cables under tension. They should have instantly smashed Ekve¡¯s body to something far thinner than pulp, but he knew somehow that E?rrach was strengthening him to withstand the world-crushing power of such a godly embrace. For through the skin-on-skin contact, Ekve was brought into direct contact with E?rrach¡¯s being, on every level of being¡­and perspective was now his to contemplate.


    E?rrach was power. The whole weight and substance of the Nested Worlds¡ªeveryone and everything in it, all that was and all that is, all of it¡ªwas but the most insignificant speck of dust next to the true reality of King E?rrach. He shook earthmotes underfoot because, even with his habitual restraint, he was far vaster and weightier in his godly body than all the world together. Ekve knew now that, if E?rrach were ever to allow himself total unrestraint, all would instantly be pulled into him with terrible, ultimate force. Indeed, doing so for the barest thought-blink of a moment had been how he¡¯d destroyed Ekve¡¯s palace, along with everything else within several miles. Not the barest trace of anything remained, beyond earthy rubble at the edges of the calamity.


    Ekve knew all this because they were in full communion of mind, too. Not even the experience of his purgation had been so terrible as this. Every mind to ever live in the Worlds was as a passing idle thought compared to the vast, terrible intellect Ekve now knew was pulling apart and examining his own from every possible angle, carefully so as not to disturb anything in the least.


    He was perfectly naked and vulnerable to the body and will of a god. He was beyond terror. So far beyond it. He was nothing. It wasn¡¯t even his own strength of spirit that had allowed him to survive the agony of the lives¡ªKing E?rrach had lent Ekve the fortitude to endure it, he now understood, by experiencing it alongside him.


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    Nor was it his own strength that endured such a full body, world-crushing embrace. It felt much like wrestling as they struggled with the pain of it all. King E?rrach gave it as much for himself as for Ekve¡ªthey were grieving together. Ekve needed someone he could struggle with to retain any sense of himself, and so he did as they rolled around in the grass, contending against each other and the horror of Ekve¡¯s sin. For E?rrach in turn needed someone he could properly embrace, someone who could receive him as a fellow embodied being. None but himself could withstand such a thing, so it was his power in both of them enabling such a consolation.


    It was an intimate physical communion to go with the contact of minds, a primal entanglement of bodies and souls unlike anything anything Ekve had ever experienced. They tumbled, cried with their bodies, their souls, and in their minds, held each other, raged and consoled. The communion of mind, soul, and skin-on-skin contact was somehow life-saving: exciting, but not carnal or erotic, yet not innocent, either; loving, and even playful, but not to any mirth; adversarial, but not between foes, or even competing opponents. Same yet different from the contact of mind and soul, something with the force of E?rrach¡¯s true power flowing between them, given as gift to anchor Ekve¡¯s feeble, unworthy being to the world.


    It was all¡­so many things at once, but first and foremost it was¡­it was brotherly, and strangely fatherly. They wept and yelled and raged, and grappled on every level with the shared shame and horror and the grief of it all, especially the little joys that had been snuffed out by Ekve¡¯s wanton, unspeakable sin.


    By some merciful magic, the horror all melted into something¡­else, and the end of it felt as gentle as a father picking his son up from a scraped knee. A stern father, to be sure; the rebuke was powerful, and came with total justice. But a good father, nonetheless.


    ¡°Do you now grasp the reality of your being, young Ekve?¡±


    He did. All of it, without any possibility of a lie. ¡°¡­Yes,¡± he sobbed, from the depths of his soul.


    King E?rrach sat them both up and swallowed Ekve up in another embrace, face to face and mind to mind, more intimate than any lover, more loving than any father and son. Ekve could not help it; his shame and self-loathing was matched only by the terrible, absolute love he felt for King E?rrach. He was beautiful. In his body, in his mind, in his soul, in his very being. So perfectly, achingly beautiful, Ekve could not bear the thought of offending him in the least, let alone at the scale he¡¯d transgressed. Yet, somehow he was still there. He was being given something by this encounter, he knew. Something he could not bear on his own.


    ¡°You are tiny, young Ekve. Tiny, helpless. Feeble, foolish, and broken. In your smallness, you have committed great evil, and you have now faced its reality. Its consequences cannot be erased, not from your soul, not from the world. You have permanently marred us all by your concupiscent wantonness of character. You now understand all this. Do you think I have been unfair with you?¡±


    Ekve couldn¡¯t find it in himself to sob again. Instead, he hung his head and shook it. ¡°¡­No.¡±


    ¡°Then, my son¡­be at peace. Your sins are forgiven, by authority entrusted to me in ages Before. Do you understand why I have done this for you?¡±


    ¡°¡­No. No!¡± Ekve felt a new, far more terrible wave of grief building within him. He dreaded to ask, could not even voice his question. Why?!


    King E?rrach could have answered him in his mind, but chose not to. Instead he once again pulled Ekve into an earthmote-shattering hug. ¡°Because you are tiny, helpless, broken, and sinful¡­and precious beyond all measure. All of you are. In the grandest scheme of all things: all of us are, my son.¡± His voice was a deep, rumbling whisper in Ekve¡¯s ear. ¡°And you are loved, no matter what.¡±


    All those lives and all that communion had been but preparation for those words.


    They broke Ekve entirely.


    <hr>


    <blockquote>


    Vathwychen, the ¡°City of Swords,¡± was the headquarters of the Ordfey military, and site of its training camps, forges and stables. From here, regiments of slave-soldiers were raised and indoctrinated to fight in the endless ¡°Wars of Entertainment.¡± After the Ordfey¡¯s fall, the triumphant humans robbed the city out stone by stone, and now nothing remains of it above ground, though one may walk the site and still see the patterns of ancient walls and foundations in the grass. ¡ªDenrick Roth, Elves.


    </blockquote>


    <h2>Approaching the home of a god</h2>


    The Oasis, Alhulw Earthmote 09.06.03.09.12


    Even from the air, the palace of Prince Sayf was breathtaking. In fact, Jerl wondered if the cleverness of its construction could only be appreciated from above.


    The palace was shaped like¡­well, like a figure. A lithe, feminine figure captured in strange, sinuous dance. Though, the figure had more than the usual allowance of arms, but the intent that this was a depiction of somebody was made explicit by an intricately beaten and shaped bronze roof that gleamed in the sunlight like a serene face.


    A vast circular white collonade surrounded the whole palace, and beyond its sweep the earthmote was cultivated into a perfect luxury garden, dotted here and there with smaller guest palaces far inferior in both size and splendor to the Oasis itself, but still magnificent by any normal standard.


    Within the collonade was an exquisitely groomed park, fountained plazas, flowered gazebos, and a tiled pool of clean water in which Jerl could see people splashing, swimming and playing. Already, the breeze carried the scents of perfume, spice, honey and incense to his nose, even this far above.


    He almost regretted having to descend below the earthmote¡¯s edge to dock with the gantry along its trailing edge. But this, too, turned out to be luxury like he¡¯d never imagined. It could not have been less like the creaking wooden edifice at Long Drop with its rattling metal walkways and tangled spiderweb of rigging rope. This gantry was sculpted from the mote¡¯s own living rock, then tiled and polished to gleaming perfection. All the usual necessary accoutrements of airship handling were clean, and stored in a¡­well, ¡°shed¡± was probably not the right word for something built of white stone and as intricately decorated as a shrine, but if there was a more fitting word, Jerl didn¡¯t know it.


    There was no ground crew. Instead, the ropes writhed up like snakes to tie themselves, and the bolt rolled over and locked without the touch of a human hand. Still, as Jerl stood and gawped at this opulence, some people did show up, trotting down out of a large statue-flanked door in the cliff face bearing bowls, ewers, cloths and sweetmeats.


    A ramp of white wood with delicately curled balistrades reached up to admit them, and Jerl trotted down it feeling suddenly and uncomfortably unkempt for this place. Bathing aboard ship was a necessarily tricky affair, given the need to carry all their own water, and frankly the best opportunity for a crew to clean themselves and their clothes was to fly through a gentle raincloud.


    Hence the welcoming party.


    The leader was a human woman, tall, warmly dark and staggeringly beautiful, with her explosion of black hair braided tight against her scalp before flowering up into a dramatic puff at the back, held by a tied ribbon. She wore a colorfully patterned silk gown scooped almost to her navel in the front and cut high on the hip at either side to show off her figure and a truly daring amount of flawless sable skin, embellished by delicate golden bands around her arms, and gossamer garter chains on her thighs.


    Her stride was long and powerful, her back straight and her bearing regal. Even from yards away she radiated confidence, authority, grace and allure¡­but her smile was pure warmth and welcome. ¡°Captain Holten!¡± she placed a hand over her breast and bowed slightly from the waist as she reached him. ¡°My husband has been looking forward to your arrival.¡±


    Jerl returned her bow more deeply, putting on his formal manners. If he understood her correctly, the woman was a Crownspouse, one of Sayf¡¯s famous harem. He could certainly believe it, she was unquestionably stunning enough to turn the eye of a god. ¡°You have the advantage of me, your highness.¡±


    ¡°I am Pal.¡± She stepped aside and gestured to the collection of men and two elves behind her. ¡°My entourage are here to see you and your crew are appropriately presentable for the Oasis.¡±


    ¡°Yes, I definitely fall short of the standard right now¡­¡± Jerl admitted, growing self-conscious of his own odor.


    Pal shook her head, but her smile said she meant only he had nothing to apologise for. ¡°No-one arrives here pristine and perfect, captain. It is a long voyage, after all. So, once you are ready and your ship is settled, you and your crew will be welcomed to the bathhouses and from there the Oasis awaits you.¡±


    ¡°Thank you, your highness.¡±


    Pal smiled. ¡°I will see you upstairs when you are ready,¡± she declared. ¡°Oh and¡­a request. This is a place of peace, so I would ask you all please leave behind your weapons, though the elves may keep their vamdraechs. Eclipse never falls here, but we do not rob them of its comfort.¡±


    ¡°The last thing we came here for was violence, your highness.¡±


    ¡°I am glad.¡±


    ¡°Incidentally, this is Mouse.¡± Jerl gestured to his side, and was secretly delighted at the way Pal¡¯s serenity betrayed a crack at being suddenly introduced to someone she hadn¡¯t noticed. She came within a hair of jumping in surprise.


    ¡°Ah¡ªforgive me. Yes. The other Wordspeaker. I apologize for my rudeness.¡±


    Mouse shook his head forgivingly. ¡°Not your fault, your highness. I don¡¯t really have control over this power yet.¡±


    ¡°I am sure my husband will want to help with that,¡± Pal declared, nodding. ¡°And if he does not, I will press him. It does not do for guests to go ignored in this house.¡±


    ¡°Thank you. I¡¯d, uh¡­I¡¯d really appreciate that.¡±


    Pal smiled again, bowed again, and turned away to vanish between the statues and back into the cliffside. Jerl exhaled slowly. He¡¯d heard stories of Sayf¡¯s harem growing up, everyone had. They were nearly as mythical as the Crowns and Heralds themselves, supposedly the most beautiful, brilliant, intelligent, capable and wonderful people in all the worlds, men and women alike. He¡¯d never really wondered what a person such as that would be like to meet in the flesh¡­


    Now he knew.


    Mouse nudged him in the side. ¡°Wow. Right?¡±


    ¡°Yeah,¡± Jerl agreed. ¡°Wow.¡±


    ¡°Yeah¡­¡± Mouse sighed.


    They both stared a moment longer, then in a moment of mutual awkwardness came to their senses, cleared their throats, regained their mental balance, laughed at each other, and turned to tell the crew what was going on.


    The baths were quite an experience. Jerl and Mouse went through together, in part to ensure Mouse¡¯s privacy was respected, but in fact the attendants nodded at their wish to be unseen and vanished from sight after explaining the process. The first room was a beautifully decorated domed room, its walls covered in a delicate mosaic evocative of silver rain among the trees. Their clothes were deposited through a drop box, to be taken away for cleaning and mending, and from there it was on to a rinsing room where bars of perfumed soap and ewers of steaming water waited for them to sluice the worst travel sweat and grime.


    From there they basked awhile in a pleasantly warm shallow pool in a room whose mosaics evoked a sandy oasis somewhere on Alakbir Earthmote, then relaxed further in a hot steam room full of plants, as though they were soaking in the humidity of the Prathardesh jungles.


    The last room was a refreshing plunge in unheated water to enliven and revive the heat-dulled senses, and they elected to forego the massages. Though, Jerl would definitely have taken that option if not for Mouse.


    Their clothes were waiting for them in the last room, neatly folded. Sort of.


    ¡°¡­This can¡¯t be my shirt,¡± Mouse said, holding it up. ¡°My shirt had patches. And a hole down here I was gonna have to patch soon¡­and these look like my breeches, but they¡¯re¡ª¡±


    Jerl nodded. Mouse was still at heart a Street Rat, and though his father was one of the Rats¡¯ wealthy leaders, even Whisker still dressed frugally in old, rugged and much-mended threads rather than in new cloth.


    ¡°When they say they take care of their guests, they really take care of their guests,¡± he said. His own clothes had not been so replaced, but they were looking better than he could remember. The leather of his belts and shoes had been nourished, waxed and conditioned, some torn stitching in his coat had been put right, and a tatter in the hem of his shirt where he¡¯d caught it on a nail a few weeks ago had been sewn back with an almost invisible stitch.


    They¡¯d been adjusted, too. Taken in here, let out there. Somebody had sized him up perfectly at a glance.


    The same went for Mouse. He paused after dressing then turned and spread his arms for Jerl¡¯s inspection. ¡°How do I look?¡±


    ¡°Handsome!¡± Actually, that was a weak word. Some undefinable adjustment to the cut of his shirt and breeches had done a lot to make his shoulders look broader and give the impression of rakish swagger. He¡¯d never looked better.


    In any case, the assessment made Mouse glow happily. ¡°So..where to now?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure¡­¡± Jerl said, opening the door. It opened onto a balcony above where they¡¯d entered, facing back toward the docking gantry and the Cavalier Queen.


    Pal was waiting for them, seated gracefully on a stone bench and leaning on the balcony¡¯s carved white wall. She looked up and smiled as they exited.


    ¡°I was just admiring your ship,¡± she said. ¡°I love Antage hulls, they always have that cute belly and tail in the keel¡­she looks quick and agile. Runs a little swifter than she''s rated, I would guess?¡±


    ¡°Uh, yes. She always has,¡± Jerl agreed, surprised. ¡°You know your airships.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯ve fascinated me since I was a girl. I remember seeing the Cloudtreader when she visited Arthenun.¡±


    ¡°The Cloudtreader? That¡¯s¡ª¡± Jerl bit off the word ¡¯impossible.¡¯ It wasn¡¯t done to accuse one¡¯s host of lying, especially not a crownspouse. But the Cloudtreader? The first airship to visit all the major earthmotes in a single years-long voyage? She was a museum nowadays, permanently land-docked outside the Keeghan and Sons guild headquarters in Crae Laugharne. ¡°¡­That would mean you¡¯re a lot older than you look,¡± he ventured instead.


    ¡°She is,¡± Mouse nodded, giving Pal a fervent look.


    ¡°A hundred and four. One of the many benefits of being Crownspouse is the power to choose our own pace of aging, and even reverse it if we prefer. I have settled on¡­this.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t think ¡®settled¡¯ is the right word¡­¡± Mouse commented, then flushed pink as Pal giggled at him.


    ¡°Perhaps not,¡± she flashed a smile that deepend Mouse¡¯s blush. ¡°Anyway. You look much more comfortable now.¡±


    ¡°I certainly feel more presentable,¡± Jerl agreed.


    ¡°You are. Very handsome, both of you. My husband will be delighted.¡± She rose from her bench and smoothed out her gown. ¡°Shall we?¡±


    They followed her up stairs which at first cut straight up through the rock of the earthmote¡¯s heart, then started to curve around to the right in a long, elegant sweep.


    It was a long climb, but Jerl didn¡¯t find it even remotely tiring. In fact, he found it somehow almost as easy as walking gently downhill. The air down in the stairwell was cool, but grew warmer and more fragrant as the curve led upwards, and he became aware of tranquil music filtering down from above. A deep-voiced flute, the graceful run of a harp, the shimmer of chimes and bells, and the pleasant pedal drone of some kind of string instrument.


    They reached the top, and he realized they had come up adjacent to the palace¡¯s ¡°crown,¡± into a courtyard shaded by cloth-hung pergolas. A long-limbed, rather gangly boy was lounging nearby dressed in a long red silk wrap, reading a book in one hand and holding a forgotten pomegranate in the other. Behind him, a strutting bird with a magnificent tail paused to release a high call then paraded away across the grass.


    ¡°Lander! I¡¯ve told you before, you¡¯ll get juice on the pages!¡± Pal called, in the entirely unmistakable tones that said mother.


    ¡°Huh? Oh!¡± Lander jumped to his feet, set book and fruit aside, and then surrepititiously tried to lick sticky dried juice from his fingers. ¡°Yes. Sorry¡­are these father¡¯s guests?¡±


    A crownchild. Jerl almost went slack-jawed and rigid from shock. They were known to exist, of course. Haust was legendarily fond of living mortal lives and taking husbands, with all that entailed. And Sayf had his harem and all that entailed. But to actually meet one¡­


    But of course, if not here, then where else?


    ¡°They are. Captain Jerl Holten, this is my son, Lander Sayfschild.¡±


    ¡°And her?¡± Lander pointed at Mouse, who blinked, astonished at being not only seen, but seen through so clearly.


    ¡°Mouse,¡± he said. ¡°And I¡¯m him, please.¡±


    ¡°Oh.¡± Lander paused and studied Mouse a moment, like a mage intrigued by a new anomalous specimen. Jerl noticed that he had not actually looked either of them in the face, nor his mother. ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°Lander,¡± Pal''s tone was patient rather than warning. ¡°That is tactless.¡±


    ¡°Oh,¡± Lander repeated, and bowed formally to Mouse, though he still did not quite look at him. ¡°I apologize.¡±


    ¡°No, it¡¯s alright,¡± Mouse said. ¡°And as for why¡­maybe im just weird.¡±


    A bright smile dispelled Lander¡¯s perpetual distracted look, and he nodded fervently as though he was suddenly back on familiar ground. ¡°Father says weirdness is what makes people wonderful!¡± he declared.


    ¡°Go back to your reading,¡± Pal told him, fondly. ¡°But I had better not find any stains on the pages.¡±


    ¡°Yes, mother.¡±


    And with that, he picked up his book again and ignored the guests. Pal led them away, heading for the palace doors.


    ¡°Thank you for being kind with him,¡± she said.


    Mouse shook his head. ¡°It was¡­actually quite nice to be seen for once.¡±


    Pal nodded. ¡°He''s a bright boy,¡± she said. ¡°And he devours lore. People and their messiness give him difficulty, and I fear he¡¯s a little younger in the head than he ought to be, but¡­but I am very proud of him.¡°


    Unsure of what to say, Jerl said nothing, and instead looked around as he followed Pal into the palace.


    The interior was, of course, grand. But it was not in fact as opulent as he¡¯d imagined. When he was a boy and his parents had first told him stories of Sayf¡¯s palace at the oasis, he¡¯d envisioned treasures beyond counting, gold and gems, chalices and idols, rich vestments and jewelry. He¡¯d imagined every item of furniture would be made of the most precious woods and inlaid with silver, gold and nacre. Even the floor, in his boyhood dreams, had been embellished to excess.


    Tacky, as only an unworldly imagination could be. And far wide of the mark too, because Sayf was not the god of wealth but the god of beauty, in its every form.


    The entrance chamber was round, its floor white and polished, and the walls were likewise of smooth stone, a showcase in the elegant simplicity of good construction. The columns arched overhead to meet in the middle, and light seemed to come from behind them somehow, which drew the eye upwards, toward¡­


    Jerl gasped. The curved dome of the ceiling was exquisitely painted, its eight panels uniting into a panorama of the First Day, and the creation of the First Folk. A panel each for Sayf, Talvi, E?rrach and Haust, two panels for the Heralds, and a panel apiece for elves and men, naked and new as they took their first breaths and gazed in wonder on their creators.


    The ceiling was so breathtaking that Pal had to put out a hand to stop him from blundering into the low barrier that protected a statue in the chamber¡¯s exact middle. It was tall, larger than life-sized and made taller by its plinth, and depicted a man of surpassing physical loveliness. His nude form was flawless, his face handsome and touched by a distant, thoughtful expression beneath a mop of curly hair. His weight was slightly on one leg, the opposite hand raised delicately to hold a cloth draped over his shoulder. The artist had somehow captured, in solid stone, every bone and vein and wrinkle of his hands, the asymmetric dimple of his navel, and all other such minutiae of his body in such perfect detail that Jerl could almost imagine the statue turning to greet him.


    It was the most exquisite work of art he had ever seen, a love letter to the human form. He¡¯d never imagined such a work was possible.


    ¡°What¡­? I¡­?¡±


    ¡°My husband has never admitted where he acquired it,¡± Pal said, pausing to look up and admire the elegant figure. ¡°Some of us think he brought it with him from the World Before. The one thing he could not bear to allow to die with that old, fading realm.¡±


    ¡°Do you believe that?¡± Mouse asked.


    ¡°My husband is ancient beyond understanding. I doubt whether ordinary marble could survive the infinite ages of his life in such pristine condition. If it is a work of the World Before, more likely it is his recreation.¡± She smiled up at the statue a moment longer, then beckoned them to follow. ¡°That is my rational thought. But my heart hopes and prays it is truly the original, by some miracle. Anyway. Come: you will have ample time to admire all the palace¡¯s beautiful things later.¡±


    She led them on, and room by room they were treated to a glimpse of the just some of the beautiful things. There was a long, humid and fragrant room with tall glass windows, full of flowers and trees and humming insects. There was an intense, dark room showcasing elemental beauty, where large glittering geodes and translucent crystals were illuminated by the shimmering light of burning fires as it reflected off running water. This was followed by something of a palate cleanser, a tranquil and simple space where the sweeping splendor of the cloud sea out over the earthmote¡¯s edge was the only thing that qualified as decoration.


    From the next chamber came the sound of music, and Pal stopped before opening the door.


    ¡°My husband is always entertaining guests,¡± she said. ¡°And he doesn¡¯t like to be rude to them by cutting their performance short. Please do not take it as a snub if he seems to ignore you at first.¡±


    ¡°Of course,¡± Jerl agreed solemnly. She nodded, and pushed the door open.


    The room beyond was the largest they¡¯d yet seen, and just as round as the entrance hall, but the word that sprang to Jerl¡¯s mind was cozy. Not in the sense he was used to, it had to be said: Jerl¡¯s usual notion of coziness involved blankets, hot drinks, and a comfortable chair by a good log fire. This was cozy in an entirely different sense.


    The air was sweet and heavy with perfume and hazy from both incense and hookahs. The tiled floor was strewn everywhere with enormous thick pillows, on which people lounged and chatted, were sound asleep, or perhaps were wrapped up in each other and kissing lazily or whispering their affections. The low ceiling bore curtains and hanging braziers, and Jerl was left feeling that the room and its smoky atmosphere ought to have been dim, stuffy and too hot¡­but no. It was intimate.


    Prince Sayf himself was easily spotted, for he lounged in the middle amidst an ocean of pillows, sipping smoke from a long pipe and letting it curl slowly out of his nose. And he was not, at all, what Jerl had expected. After all the perfection around them, after all the wondrous beauty, Sayf stood out for being markedly imperfect.


    He was beautiful, of course. His face was wide and kind and built for smiling, and his dark-lined eyes twinkled merrily beneath a heavy brow. His mane of hair might be taken for roguishly unkempt at first glance, or unmanageably wavy at a second, but his beard was short and neat. He wore a loose and comfortable garment of embroidered silk, which was sleeved down his left arm but bared his right arm, shoulder and the right side of his chest, to reveal¡­


    Well. To reveal his imperfections. The firm muscular swells of his shoulder and chest were softened by a comfortable padding of fat. His smile deepened a number of careworn lines on his brow and around his eyes, in skin that might have been called dark, or might equally have been called weatherbeaten.


    He looked, in short, like a man whose lavish lifestyle had taken its toll. But at the same time, Jerl thought, if he were to snap his fingers and remove all those blemishes and signs of overindulgence, he¡¯d actually reduce his beauty.


    Right now, he was listening to a very old man sing. The man¡¯s voice was not what Jerl would normally have found pleasing to listen to¡ªage had added a quaver and infirmity to it that under normal circumstances would have marred or outright ruined his perfromance. But the song itself¡­


    ?You''ve flown away and left your silver mask, There in the mud.


    From by my feet it stares up to the sky.


    I''d pick it up and give it back, If only I could,


    But I am he who dropped it there, And I barely know why¡­


    Killing for a shilling.


    We left home for a king we¡¯ll never see.


    If noble men desire their throne, why can¡¯t they bear the cost alone?


    Why must they spend the likes of thee and me?


    Who¡¯ll do the killing for a shilling¡­?


    Mouse squeezed Jerl¡¯s arm, and when Jerl glanced down at him he felt, through Mouse, all the¡ªSorrow, grief, confusion, self-loathing, regret¡ªflowing from the old man¡¯s soul. But also healing. The old soldier was very much singing his heart out, finally giving voice to something he''d carried most of his life, and Mouse was sensitive to every nuance.


    Pal guided them to a deep drift of pillows and gestured for them to sit, assured them they would have their turn with her husband soon, then vanished off into some darkened corner, flittering among the veil curtains and smoke until Jerl lost track of her.


    He looked up and realized a man in neat white clothes had swept up bearing drinks and sweets on a tray. After a moment¡¯s thought he selected a glass of fizzing cordial that had the color (and aroma) of cherry blossom. The first sip of it vanished across the tongue and drove out a parched throat he hadn¡¯t been aware of, refreshed him when he¡¯d thought he hadn¡¯t need it. He instantly sensed it was best savored rather than guzzled, and found it served as the perfect palate cleanser between bites of a heavy, sweet, dense and chewy cake.


    He ate, and drank, and took in the people around them as Sayf praised the old man and spoke unheard, quiet, kind words to him. There were people from all over the worlds here, Alakbiri and Prathar and Il?yedun, St¨®rsteinners and P¨¡p¨±pau?oleans, Craenen, Yunei and Garanese, and others besides. Skin and hair in every human shade, clothing both modest and minimal, humble and lavish, ears both round and pointed¡­


    A dark hand touched his shoulder. Pal was back, and she pointed with an upward nod toward Sayf, who had bid farewell to the old soldier and was now sipping a drink of his own and waiting for his next guests.


    Well. Here he went. For the second time in his life, Jerl was about to meet a Crown. Not so long ago, it would have been unthinkable that he might ever meet even one. He straightened his clothes redundantly, cleared a throat that wasn¡¯t dry, and took a step forward into the circle of candelight in which Summer rested.


    Before he could bow, Sayf was on his feet and grinning ear to ear. ¡°Aha! Welcome, Jerl, welcome!¡± He shook Jerl¡¯s hand and patted his shoulder as though they were old and dear friends. ¡°And¡­¡± he paused, and to Jerl¡¯s surprise seemed to need a moment¡¯s concentration to find Mouse. ¡°¡­Ah! There you are! That¡¯s quite the protection you wove around yourself, my friend.¡°


    ¡°I¡­well¡­thank you,¡± Mouse ventured. ¡°It was kind of an accident.¡±


    Sayf nodded understanding. ¡°Powerful magic often is. Come: I¡¯ve been sitting too long, I need the pleasure of a good stroll, and we have much to discuss.¡±


    He put a hand each at the smalls of their backs and ushered them toward a door on his right. People nodded and smiled at him as they passed, but it was strange, Jerl noted. The courtiers in this room responded to Sayf much as one might to a respected and beloved friend. It was deference, yes, but more than that they liked him.


    And why not? His presence was opposite to Talvi¡¯s. She had been thin and serene, and her mere presence was freezing cold. Her person had commanded respect, and as Jerl remembered the only reason he hadn¡¯t bowed was because he¡¯d been lying in a pool of his own blood with a bullet through his leg at the time.


    Sayf radiated every kind of warmth, and smelled intoxicating. Even on immediate meeting, Jerl felt drawn to him, and the thought of bowing was¡­wrong, somehow. It¡¯d be like bowing to Derghan, or any other friend.


    ¡°We were not expecting you until tomorrow,¡± Sayf said. ¡°Pal tells me the Cavalier Queen is uncannily swift, though.¡±


    ¡°Most of the time. Sometimes, if we don¡¯t treat her right, she sulks and dawdles, but usually she¡¯s much too proud to be outrun by anything that doesn¡¯t deserve it.¡±


    Sayf chuckled. ¡°Oh, you¡¯re a born shipmaster, alright. I bet I could drop you on the deck blindfolded and you¡¯d figure out where you were in a second.¡±


    ¡°I¡­probably could, yes,¡± Jerl agreed.


    The door opened of its own accord as they approached, and closed behind them the same way. They were in another one of the display rooms, this one a gallery of sculptures and pottery, though none of the pieces matched the exquisite figure in the entrance hall. In fact, the nearest was a gorgeous blue vase so large that Jerl could have climbed inside, that had clearly been smashed at some point and mended in a way that highlighted the repair rather than conceal it. The many cracks through its shattered pottery were filled with a gold lacquer.


    ¡°There. A little privacy,¡± Sayf smiled as the door locked with a click.


    ¡°Surely you¡¯re not worried about spies here?¡± Jerl asked.


    ¡°Mm, we¡¯ll get to that. But really, I am more worried that somebody might innocently overhear something they shouldn¡¯t, and carry it with them when they leave. Not all of a wall¡¯s ears are deliberate or sinister. But¡­anyway. Are you both well? You¡¯re carrying tremendous burdens¡­¡±


    Jerl didn¡¯t answer at first, and instead looked to Mouse, who looked and felt like his first reaction would be to insist he was fine.


    ¡°I¡ª¡± he paused as Jerl touched his shoulder, reassuringly: Sayf would see right through it anyway. ¡°...No. No, not really. I¡¯m getting very sick of being left alone.¡±


    ¡°I would imagine it¡¯s a lonely feeling¡­¡± Sayf agreed as they ambled between the statues, sculptures, pots and urns.


    ¡°Yes. That¡¯s the word. I have Jerl, of course, and, y¡¯know, my friends remember me when I actually prompt them to. But¡­¡± Mouse sighed and fidgeted with what had, this morning, been an increasingly frayed cuff in large part thanks to his fidgeting with it. Now, of course, it was completely mended. ¡°I even slip from Jerl¡¯s mind quite easily, when he¡¯s busy. I¡¯m left alone, by everyone. Even when what I really want is for one of them to come and check on me and, I don¡¯t know, just ask whether I need anything. I have to stand there and poke Ju-Wi, a woman I¡¯ve known since I was tiny, to remind her that I exist so she saves me a bowl of soup at dinnertime¡­¡±


    He sighed again, fidgeted his expression a bit and swallowed back the rest of his emotions, though he couldn¡¯t stop them from filling the room.


    Sayf nodded sympathetically. ¡°That¡¯s a harsh downside of your power, indeed. I will see what we can do to alleviate it. And don¡¯t worry about coming to remind me,¡± he added. ¡°I will not forget, I promise you.¡±


    Mouse managed a smile and a nod.


    ¡°And you, Jerl?¡±


    ¡°¡­I¡¯m¡­well enough,¡± Jerl said, honestly but with a shrug. ¡°I have worries. I¡¯m afraid the time is coming where I¡¯ll have to see the people I care about die again, and that was hard enough the first time. Or I¡¯ll come to a moment where there¡¯s no good course forward, and even the best one will come at a steep cost¡­¡±


    ¡°A worthy fear,¡± Sayf agreed. He paused by what had once been a bas-relief, in the elven style. Whoever first made it had wielded a chisel like a delicate paintbrush, capturing even the texture of its subject¡¯s cloak and clothing. Though, who the subject was, Jerl couldn¡¯t guess. He gave it a sorrowful look, taking in the way the edges were worn and age had worn away some of the detail. ¡°Time is full of worthy fears. Live long enough and you will see everything fade and crumble. And you, my dear, have joined the ranks of the truly immortal. Even your own death is reversible¡­meaning I somehow doubt you could die even when you wish to. In that lies a worthy fear indeed.¡±


    Jerl shivered, having not really thought of that, yet. He changed tack slightly, toward the things he had thought about. ¡°One of my new crew is¡­well. His soul-name is Hakatin?¡±


    ¡°Heh!¡± Sayf laughed. ¡°I haven¡¯t seen him in a long age! Is he still¡­?¡± He paused, pursed his lips, then gave up on choosing words and gestured with both hands in a way that was somehow perfectly expressive of Harad and his attitude.


    Jerl couldn¡¯t help but burst out laughing. ¡°Hah! Oh! Yes! Yes, he¡¯s, uh¡­.he¡¯s definitely still.¡±


    Sayf chuckled. ¡°Good. I¡¯ll be glad to see him again. We¡¯ll want your whole crew here for the true meeting between us.¡±


    ¡°We will?¡±


    ¡°Well of course!¡± Sayf gestured and the door in front of them opened into a new room, this one lined with mannequins in glass cases. It seemed to be a testament to fashion and the beauty of clothing. ¡°But what about Hakatin?¡±


    ¡°He¡­had a lot to say to me, at first meeting.¡± Jerl shrugged when Sayf chuckled, but the Crown remained silent to let him continue. ¡°He thinks I¡¯m too passive. Thinks I¡¯m content to sit back and react, rather than form a plan. I do¡­I do have a plan. But I think he¡¯s right that it could do with a little more¡­¡±


    ¡°Clarity?¡± Sayf finished for him. He nodded when Jerl confirmed it. ¡°I have guessed your plan, I think. You intend on digging up more of the Words of Creation and having your friends speak them, yes?¡±


    ¡°Well¡­that was the notion,¡± Jerl agreed, glancing to Mouse. ¡°But I wanted to know if it was a good idea, first. Of the three Wordspeakers I know of, Mouse goes ignored, I have these ¡®worthy fears¡¯ as you put it, and Civorage¡ª¡±


    ¡°Hmm¡­a parable for you.¡± Sayf ambled on, pausing just a beat to appreciate every mannequin they passed. ¡°Are you familiar with electricity?¡±


    ¡°Only a little¡­¡±


    ¡°Of course. It¡¯s not a widespread technology, yet. Give it another sixty or seventy years and it¡¯ll be everywhere, it¡¯ll be bigger than airships. Give it a hundred and people will start doing things with it you can¡¯t imagine. And in a world like that, you need¡­well. You need a lot of electricity. So once upon a time, in the World Before, somebody invented a way to generate lots of it. And for fuel they used¡­ something that doesn¡¯t actually exist in these Nested Worlds.¡±


    ¡°Why not?¡±


    ¡°Because it is deadly poison, and turns the air around it into deadly poison. Just standing near a lump of the stuff can kill a man, and it would be a slow and terrible death at that. Can¡¯t have that come swirling out of the sun in great gritty clouds, so we¡¯re not planning on there being any in this world for a very, very long time. But in the World Before there was enough of it buried underground to dig up and use as fuel. See, under the right circumstances, it gets hot and stays hot, all on its own. Hot enough to boil huge amounts of water to steam and send them squirting through a turbine to generate electricity. With me so far?¡±


    ¡°That sort of machinery is more Derghan¡¯s wheelhouse,¡± Jerl confessed. ¡°But go on.¡±


    ¡°The parable is actually from thousands of years before my time. It goes that, once upon a time, a great nation built one of these poison-fueled engines to power their lands. But they were¡­in their culture, there was a great expectation of obedience. If the people in charge declared that a thing was to be done, then for their subordinate to try and tell them it should not be done, or worse could not, was a likely way to earn severe punishment. And so, the people in charge decreed the poison engine should be experimented with, used in strange ways to see what they could learn.¡±


    ¡°Why would they¡ª?¡± Jerl asked, appalled.


    ¡°Oh, they had been assured the machine was designed to always fail safely no matter what they did. If something broke, if things started to go wrong, at worst they could always shut it down quickly, quietly and harmlessly.¡±


    ¡°A lie?¡± Mouse asked.


    ¡°Mmm¡­¡± Sayf¡¯s well-groomed mane of dark hair shook as he waggled his head in a thoughtful almost-no. ¡°It was indeed technically true that the machine could not do what they feared most. But in assuring their masters it was proof against that danger, the creators failed or neglected to convey the other dangers. And so, inevitably, this foolish poking and prodding ended in disaster: There was an explosion, and a great fire which spread poison across a land as wide as Garanhir.¡±


    ¡°How many died?¡±


    ¡°Depending on how one counts these things¡­somewhere between thirty and thirty million. But by contrast, only a few years earlier another land used the same poison fuel to launch a ship high into the sky that never, ever came down again.¡± Sayf smiled, and turned toward another door. ¡°It flew for a lifetime of men, on a stock of fuel that weighed no more than a small cat.¡±


    ¡°Holy shit¡­¡± Mouse breathed. Jerl blinked, finding his imagination was now entirely foundering on that idea.


    ¡°Indeed.¡± Sayf chuckled and let them chew on that a moment as he opened the door to the next room and continued. ¡°Bear in mind now, that¡¯s the oldest example I can think of, from a time culturally and technologically not too different to the state of our world as it is now. We faced similar challenges¡ªincredible power wrapped up in terrible danger¡ªmany, many, many more times over the long ages that followed. Culminating, ultimately, in the Words. The most powerful¡­and, therefore, the most dangerous.¡±


    Jerl wasn¡¯t even paying attention to the next room¡¯s contents now, his mind was full of dark imaginings of an evil black fire spreading a deadly smoke across all the sky, and high above it a single ship, sailing forever without having to come down for anything.


    ¡°I think I follow your meaning,¡± he said.


    ¡°Good!¡± Sayf boomed, and clapped his hands eagerly together with a deep slap of palm on palm that rang off the walls and made Jerl remember they were in a new room¡­one devoted to the worlds themselves. An armillary spun gently in the middle of the hall, but unlike any that Jerl had ever seen or even heard of: this one hung unsupported in the air, with neither pedestal nor cable. It was in every sense the worlds in miniature, the earthmotes all free to float along their course without a framework of iron and gear-teeth.


    Knowing what he did of magic, Sayf must be constantly using some small part of his power to maintain it.


    ¡°Woah¡­¡±


    Sayf laughed again, a sound that came so easily to him. ¡°You were much too lost in thought, my love.¡±


    Jerl could only breath a smaller, softer ¡±Wow¡­¡± and approach the edifice, slowly. To see it all so clearly, as though from the outside¡­as he got closer, he realized the earthmotes¡¯ inside faces were exquisitely detailed. He could see the faint roughness of forests and the smoothness of steppes, the many subtle shades of grass and tree, plain and mountain, desert and lake. He could even see the cities, as tiny patches of grey and red like lichen on a stone.


    ¡°Oh wow¡­¡± Mouse leaned in and ducked down to get a better look. ¡°I feel like I could get out a magnifying glass and watch the airships¡­¡±


    ¡°It isn¡¯t quite that detailed¡­¡± Sayf chuckled, and stood behind them to consider it with a fond sigh. ¡°I have made, or had a hand in making, a great many beautiful things in my time. The most beautiful, of course, were people. But I think these worlds come a close second place.¡±


    They paused to admire it a moment, in silence.


    ¡°It feels like a lot. Having everyone¡¯s freedom riding on me, I mean,¡± Jerl said at last.


    ¡°It is far more than one man should be asked to bear,¡± Sayf agreed, and turned away from the orrery. ¡°Which is why it¡¯s time for you to meet another new ally.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll take all I can get, but¡­who?¡±


    ¡°One of my wives. She has been waiting for this, for you or for somebody like you, for several years...¡± This time, the door the Crown opened was a hidden one, made to look seamlessly like the wall¡¯s wooden paneling. It opened into a wide, curved landing with plush carpet, and many more doors along its length. On the near side from which they¡¯d entered, Jerl guessed, it led back into the gallery rooms. On the far side were plain doors, though each had an object hung on the lintel, a random assortment that had to be mementos or personal items.


    The nearest had a wooden walking stick above, which in turn was hung with bird skulls, feathers and a magestone with a natural hole through it.


    Sayf knocked. After a moment, a high and youthful voice called back. ¡°Come in!¡±


    There was a woman in the room, busying herself at a table full of oddments amidst a haze of magic so crackling and powerful that even Jerl, untutored though he was, could feel it tingling in his teeth, though he had no idea what exactly she was doing.


    She couldn¡¯t have been more opposite to Pal, in most respects. Where Pal seemed dressed to flaunt her allure, this woman was conservatively dressed, though her gown¡ªGaranese style, with a high neckline and long skirts¡ªwas exquisite. She was Pal¡¯s equal in loveliness though, with a youthful heart-shaped face, a cascade of elegant brown curls that fell below her shoulders, a dusting of freckles across her nose, and large innocent eyes as startlingly green as raw olive oil.


    She looked familiar, though Jerl couldn¡¯t quite place why.


    Sayf smiled proudly, and with the surprising speed and silence of a very large man who knew how to move gently, he was at her elbow, looking up into the boiling magic with interest. ¡°Am I interrupting?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s alright, I just need to¡­¡± she grit her teeth and effort flickered across her face as she took up a pair of antlers and and used them to somehow guide and pour the magic down, down, down into a cauldron that was simmering gently on an alcohol burner. The liquid within, which looked like clear water, fizzed and frothed and smoked, and then fell quiet. The mage exhaled and extinguished the burner, set her antlers down carefully on the desktop, took a step back, then giggled and did a happy little bouncy success dance. ¡°It¡¯s finished!¡±


    Sayf kissed the nape of her neck and ran his thumb affectionately along her arm to squeeze her hand. ¡°It¡¯s a masterpiece, beloved.¡±


    She grinned, turned in his arms, and stretched up on tip-toes to plant a happy smooch on his lips before leaning past him to look at Jerl and Mouse. ¡°And just in time, I see.¡±


    Sayf nodded and made introductions. ¡°Captain Jerl Holten of the Cavalier Queen, and Mouse of the Street Rats,¡± he said, ¡°may I present my youngest and newest wife¡­¡±


    The crownspouse smiled, took Jerl¡¯s hand and shook it.


    ¡°Ellaenie,¡± she introduced herself. ¡°Rightful duchess of Enerlend. And with your help I hope to reclaim my home someday¡­¡±

 Chapter 10: Crownspouse

    <hr>


    <blockquote>


    As is often the way with witches, the duchess Ellaenie was snared at a young age by the manipulative crone Saoirse Crow-Sight, who seized upon the tragic loss of her parents to lead her down the dark path of manipulation, bewitchment and wickedness. It is, perhaps, forgivable for a grieving and naive girl to make such mistakes, but alas for those who loved her the former duchess has persisted in attacking the Church and has continued to consort and fornicate with the Crowns. She is an elf-friend, a scion of Heralds, and a keeper of the cruel status quo who stands against the sacred unity and the Oneness of mankind. Even in exile, she is a danger to the good people of Garanhir. ¡ªThe Witch Duchess, a Oneist tract circulated in Enerlend circa 09.06.03


    </blockquote>


    <h2>Restful Sleep</h2>


    E?rrach¡¯s lodge, his private earthmote


    09.05.15.12.13


    Ellaenie woke to comfortably rustic blankets, deep down pillows, and the sound of conversation in the next room. Rheannach¡¯s musical tone, E?rrach''s rumble¡­and two others she didn''t recognize. One soprano and soft, one contralto and clipped.


    She was still wearing only her white shift, but there were familiar garments waiting for her, the same fashionless ones E?rrach had given her before folded neatly at the foot of the bed. She dressed, then slipped out the door into the cabin¡¯s main room.


    E?rrach, Talvi and Haust were gathered around the table with Rheannach, each nursing a large drink. She stopped and gawped as the fact of that settled on her. Meeting just one of the Crowns had been tremendous enough, but three in one place at one time was overwhelming. The mere sensation of their presence was oppressive, unbearable, until E?rrach rose to greet her and she felt a newfound strength flow into her by his touch.


    ¡°Apologies,¡± he offered, taking her hand and escorting her to the last empty chair at the table. ¡°But I cannot restrain myself, in the face of this development. He wields Mind truly, and that means there is an aspect of his being which might contend with us.¡±


    Ellaenie found herself seated to Lady Haust¡¯s right. As she sat, the hooded crown put a hand on her shoulder. ¡°Are you alright?¡±


    Ellaenie could do nothing but answer truthfully. ¡°¡­No.¡±


    ¡°No, of course not.¡± Haust¡¯s eyes may not have been visible, but she didn¡¯t need them to radiate sincere compassion.


    ¡°Is¡­is Prince Sayf here too?¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s retrieving Saoirse¡¯s body and taking it back to Crae Vhannog,¡± Rheannach replied, gazing sorrowfully into her cup. ¡°I would have done it, but the power Civorage has poses risks even for me to face, it was¡­it¡¯s far, far more than we feared. He¡¯s mastered Mind. That¡­¡±


    ¡°Should not be possible,¡± Queen Talvi said, grimly. Her ageless face was turned toward the fire, the light of which danced in cold white eyes. ¡°As I have said thrice now, and should not keep repeating. Clearly it is possible for he has done it.¡±


    ¡°The Words were always more alive than we fully understood,¡± E?rrach said. He handed Ellaenie a mug of his spiced mead that had been waiting for her on the hearth. It warmed her hands as she took it.


    ¡°I¡­thought you created them?¡± Ellaenie asked.


    ¡°It would be more accurate to say that Autumn discovered them,¡± E?rrach gestured to the faceless witch, who nodded solemnly.


    ¡°Discovered, yes,¡± she agreed. Her voice had an ethereal quality that left Ellaenie feeling chilled despite the coziness of E?rrach¡¯s lodge and fireside. ¡°After peeling back layers and layers and layers of reality, after digging up all the secrets the World Before would yield about its nature, there they were, waiting behind the last axiom.¡± she drummed her fingers on the table, took a swig of mead, and added, ¡°And after that, science stubbornly shut its mouth and refused to yield any more.¡±


    ¡°It quite badly shook her faith,¡± E?rrach commented. Haust¡¯s hood came up slightly, and though the visible fraction of her expression didn¡¯t change one iota, she nevertheless contrived to give him a weary stare that said: Now is not the time.


    E?rrach raised an apologetic hand to her, then looked to Ellaenie. ¡°You¡¯re alive and free, at least. And that is far better than I had feared.¡±


    ¡°Far better than any of us feared.¡± Talvi looked away from the fire at last. ¡°I was looking forward to meeting you. I wish it could have been under better circumstances.¡±


    Ellaenie nodded her gratitude, though she found it quite impossible to speak. And before anybody else could, there was a soft sound, a faint thump. A moment later, somebody knocked on the door then opened it and entered rather than wait for an invitation.


    Prince Sayf. Ellaenie could tell he had a face made for merriment and smiling, but right now it was solemn and sad. Still, a faint flicker of a smile touched it as he saw her sitting there. ¡°Up and awake, I see. Good. And unharmed?¡±


    Ellaenie sighed. ¡°Not really.¡±


    He paused, then nodded. ¡°No. None of us are.¡± He agreed, and joined them at the table. ¡°There were tears, of course. Questions as to how this happened. Talk of vengeance against Enerlend and the Garanese. I set them straight as to who their real foe is.¡±


    ¡°Thank you,¡± Ellaenie nodded.


    ¡°Of course.¡± Sayf put a hand on hers and squeezed it gently. Immense and terrifying though his grip undoubtedly could be if he should want it, his hand was soft and comforting. ¡°The funeral is in three days, as per Craenen tradition. I¡¯ll be there on our behalf, of course.¡±


    The other three and Rheannach all nodded.


    ¡°You¡¯d do that for her?¡± Ellaenie asked.


    ¡°I attend every one of my spouses¡¯ funerals,¡± Sayf said. He took up a mug of mead and drained it. ¡°Or hold it myself.¡±


    Ellaenie blinked ¡°¡­She was¡­you¡­and her?¡±


    ¡°Oh, yes.¡± Sayf sighed, looking suddenly lost in a fond memory. ¡°For two hundred and seventy years, and half a year on top.¡±


    He glanced at Ellaenie, who was reeling at that thought, and added. ¡°She was no spring chicken when we wed, either. Uniquely of all my spouses, ever, she proposed to me. And she reclaimed her youth¡­and, when the time was right, when the work she¡¯d set out to achieve was ripe to complete, she took up mortality again and returned to the ordinary flow of life.¡±


    ¡°It¡­sounds almost like she used you.¡±


    ¡°Well, yes! She did!¡± Sayf agreed. That fond smile crossed his face again. ¡°¡­And what a remarkable woman that made her.¡±


    He stretched out a hand and Ellaenie inhaled softly as an image, only slightly transparent, wove itself in smoke and color above his palm. She¡¯d never seen any image of Saoirse¡¯s youth before, but she couldn¡¯t have failed to recognize her mentor, no matter the circumstance. The young version above Sayf¡¯s hand had an unbent back and her hair, to Ellaenie¡¯s astonishment, was pale ginger red¡ªsomehow, Ellaenie had always imagined it must have been dark¡ªbut she had those same piercing, shrewd eyes, and that same admixture of kindness and wicked mischief in her smile. She looked every inch as indomitable as she had been at the end.


    ¡°Did you¡­have children?¡±


    ¡°Five. The oldest is now Thaighn Kieran Crown-Child of Crae Vhannog, at least until the ridires hold a channaev and either oust him or accept him.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯ll accept him,¡± E?rrach predicted.


    ¡°Unless Civorage gets to them,¡± Haust added, darkly.


    ¡°He¡¯s no more omnipotent than we are, Autumn.¡±


    ¡°But he¡¯s surprised us a few times now, both by his ruthlessness and by being a step ahead.¡±


    ¡°I¡ª¡± Ellaenie paused. ¡°I know we must discuss him. But I can¡¯t bear it right now. If that¡¯s to be your conversation, I¡¯ll excuse myself and¡­I don¡¯t know. Go take the air or something.¡±


    ¡°Agreed,¡± Talvi nodded. ¡°He can wait for tomorrow. Tonight, let us talk more of Saoirse. I¡¯m sure we all have tales of her¡­¡±


    ¡°Absolutely,¡± Sayf and Rheannach agreed in a chorus, while Ellaenie nodded fervently.


    Below the shadow of her hood, a small smile haunted Haust¡¯s lips, and she nodded. ¡°Yes. That sounds much better,¡± she agreed.


    ¡°It¡¯s settled, then.¡± E?rrach stood and moved toward the door. ¡°And it calls for more drink. Let¡¯s honor her properly, hey?¡±


    Sayf drained his tankard and raised it. ¡°Hear, hear!¡±


    They gathered outdoors, while E?rrach brought up a new firkin from his cellar and tapped it. Haust gestured, and a number of logs floated over from the wood pile to arrange themselves into a neeatly stacked beach bonfire, which she lit by stooping down and blowing into.


    They formed a rough circle around it, handing out the drinks, then stood and thought, and sipped. None of them spoke for a while.


    Rheannach broke the silence first. ¡°I remember the day we met. It¡¯s like Summer said, she was so¡­so bold. She didn¡¯t care what I was, and she certainly didn¡¯t pull her punches. She spoke to me like I was younger than her, the first person ever to treat me so. It was¡­I should have been affronted, maybe. But instead it felt like¡­I don¡¯t know. Like I¡¯d had an estranged mother my whole life, and I¡¯d finally met her. She was the coven¡¯s beldame from the start, even when she looked youthful.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m beginning to think she was exceptionally gentle with me,¡± Ellaenie commented.


    ¡°Oh, she was. I never saw her treat anybody so kindly and softly as she was with you,¡± Rheannach agreed.


    ¡°Of course, she never had a daughter,¡± Talvi pointed out.


    ¡°No?¡± Ellaenie asked.


    Sayf shook his head. ¡°No indeed. Five sons. And of course, I could have given her a daughter if she ever asked for it, but¡­¡±


    ¡°But she preferred to let life be whatever it was,¡± E?rrach said. ¡°The last time we saw each other, I reminded her I could cure her arthritis, or even make her young again if she wanted. Goodness knows, she¡¯d earned far more than that from me, over the years.¡± He shook his head and swigged his mead. ¡°She said no, of course.¡±


    ¡°If she¡¯d accepted, I¡¯d have suspected an imposter,¡± Haust agreed. She nursed her own mead cup between two hands, and sipped from it rather than swigging.


    ¡°But in her old age¡­along came a talented young orphan with a profound talent for magic and a mind to match it,¡± Rheannach continued. ¡°You didn¡¯t have the Sight on that first meeting, or you¡¯d know, she went from grumbling at me that the whole trip to see you was a massive waste of time to¡­well. She adopted you pretty much on the spot.¡±


    ¡°I think I did too¡­¡± Ellaenie agreed. Her tears were running again now, but they were¡­not as bitter, somehow. ¡°I didn¡¯t know why at the time, but I went from nervously greeting a woman with a fearsome reputation to¡­suddenly I had a mentor. It felt as natural as falling asleep.¡±


    ¡°That was Saoirse,¡± Talvi nodded. ¡°Ever able to find the natural path, and brave enough to take it. Even unto¡­this. She knew what must be done, so she did it.¡±


    ¡°You make it sound so simple,¡± Ellaenie commented.


    ¡°Indeed. But you¡¯re wise enough to know it¡¯s anything but, aren¡¯t you?¡± Talvi sighed. ¡°¡­I will miss her terribly.¡±


    ¡°As will I,¡± said E?rrach.


    Haust simply nodded, her half-hidden expression mournful and subdued. Sayf closed his eyes, let out a heartfelt sigh, and dried the corners of his eyes.


    Collectively, theirs seemed to be a modest sadness at best¡­but Ellaenie knew how old they were. Against their lifetimes, even Saoirse¡¯s long span had been less than a single flicker of a candle flame. How endlessly many people had they known and said farewell to in their ages? And yet, they felt this one. Felt it so much that the whole world around them was becoming gloomy: the light seemed to have gone dimmer and greyer, the wind had stilled, the constant background rush and creak of trees was gone, and even the lake was perfectly flat and silent. Only the fire crackled on.


    They stood around it for a long time, and Ellaenie found herself watching them. E?rrach stood with his head bowed and his eyes closed, Talvi¡¯s eyes were open and staring into the flames, Sayf wandered off to refill his cup, Haust¡¯s head was turned toward the far side of the lake, and Rheannach seemed to be watching something inside her own head.


    Eventually, E?rrach¡¯s lips moved. His hand traced a gesture as he touched his forehead, navel and both shoulders. ¡°¡­Amen.¡±


    Haust sighed. ¡°Rest in peace, Saoirse.¡±


    Sayf nodded, then squatted down. He raised his refilled cup above his head, then lowered it down and upended it to pour the mead out onto the ground in a wide circle. Somehow, it was this last action that broke the spell for Ellaenie. She breathed in, and felt the world¡¯s mournfulness release her. Color and motion and feelings other than melancholy started to trickle back in. She didn¡¯t feel good, she *couldn¡¯t¡­*but she felt like she had her balance again.


    ¡°So¡­now what? What¡­¡± a thought crossed her mind. ¡°What happened to Gilber? Is he safe?¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s making some arrangements before leaving Garanhir,¡± Rheannach explained.


    ¡°And¡­Lisze? Adrey?¡±


    ¡°Lisze is one of the enemy¡¯s thralls now. Adrey, I think, escaped that fate, and if she has¡­well. I don¡¯t know what that means yet.¡±


    Ellaenie breathed out, shaken and upset for Lisze, but if Adrey was still okay¡­that was better, at least.


    ¡°Alright. I have¡­I suppose I should figure out what my next step is.¡±


    ¡°Do not rush it,¡± Haust advised. ¡°Our enemy will be consolidating after this victory, not to mention the difficulty Rhee put him to with that banishing magic. You have time to get a clear picture and think.¡±


    Ellaenie nodded, and took another deep breath. Her back straightened as she finally found herself thinking again. Looking at the situation, weighing it, letting the Craft resonate against it and listening to what it whispered¡­


    ¡°¡­I¡¯ll need somewhere to live,¡± she said. ¡°I can¡¯t very well stand on the shores of this lake forever¡­and I don¡¯t think I should go back to Garanhir, yet.¡±


    ¡°You are a welcome guest,¡± E?rrach told her. ¡°In fact¡­¡±


    He cast a look at the others. Haust was the first to nod: she bowed slightly, took a step back and evaporated into a whirl of mist. Something like a cold kiss brushed Ellaenie¡¯s cheek as she departed. Talvi likewise nodded, turned and walked away: she passed behind a nearby tree and did not emerge on its far side.


    Sayf simply gave Ellaenie a nod, then with the showground flair and charisma of a mountebank, he swirled his cloak around him with his arm, twisted inside it somehow, shrunk to a busy colorful point, and was gone with a crack.


    Rheannach touched Ellaenie¡¯s shoulder. ¡°There¡¯s a ritual we must perform, as her coven,¡± she said. ¡°Come find me after you¡¯ve spoken with my husband.¡±


    ¡°Okay.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll go prepare.¡±


    She kissed E?rrach, who whispered a warm word in her ear then stood and watched his wife for a minute as she padded away around the lake.


    Once she was maybe a hundred yards away, he turned to Ellaenie. ¡°I have thoughts you may wish to hear,¡± he said.


    ¡°O-of course,¡± Ellaenie agreed, nodding.


    ¡°Walk with me.¡±


    They turned the other way around the lake¡¯s opposite shore, past the cabin and toward the higher ground where the forest came down to a shallow cliff edge, rather than sandy beach. Unusually for him, he walked soft-footed and quietly; the earth did not undulate under his mighty step nor fuse into rock under his unfathomable weight, nor did the trees sway by his mere shifting presence. So subdued was he, in fact, that the flowers didn¡¯t even bloom nor the buds unfurl around him.


    So striking was it, she simply could not help commenting on it. ¡°I suspect you could sneak up on a fly, moving like this.¡±


    ¡°Well, I am a legendary hunter, or so I am told¡­¡± he offered, trying a wry smile. Even so, Ellaenie could tell his heart wasn¡¯t really invested in humour.


    ¡°I¡­didn¡¯t know any mortal could mean so much to you.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s the burden of power like ours, Ellaenie. The burden and the joy of it: we get to love everyone. And as we are stewards of this creation, we experience every death.¡±


    ¡°But Saoirse¡¯s was more significant than most.¡±


    ¡°That is among the things I wish to talk to you about, young witch.¡±


    They walked onward a little further.


    ¡°You must understand, and here I teach you a thing we have not yet found ready to affirm to the world, even if your beliefs suspect it: death is not the end. Not for any of us, not for an elf, nor a human, nor even a blade of grass. But it is tragedy, nonetheless. The central mystery of it shall not be breached this side of the divide, not even by the likes of I. And, so: all life is significant to one such as me. I feel every birth of every living thing, and I feel all their deaths. Even a soul such as Saoirse, as much as I loved her personally, is but a mote in that maelstrom of life.¡±


    ¡°And yet¡­you¡¯re grieving.¡±


    ¡°¡­As I said, it is a mystery. All souls are equally precious, according to their kind¡­but not all lives are equally lived. Hers was better lived than almost any other I can recall. And better ended, too. That hex she laid on Civorage as her final act was¡­¡± he paused. ¡°Well. You shall see in time.¡±


    ¡°You know something.¡±


    ¡°I am a wielder of Time, Ellaenie. Of course I know. I alone in this creation wield all the Words in their fullness by a mere thought. In the re-making of this world, I was the fulcrum through which all will and power flowed, and my sibling Crowns the shape-helpers in that task. To us, but especially to me¡­time becomes as a map one can survey, as if it were laid out on a table and most of its secrets were laid open.¡±


    ¡°¡­Most?¡±


    ¡°Most. Some surprises have been reserved for us.¡±


    Ellaenie reflected on his way of wording things once again: E?rrach always spoke as if there was, in turn, another power just as much greater than him as he was to Ellaenie, if not more so. He spoke of what was reserved, revealed and granted. He phrased his thoughts more like a servant than a king.


    Servant or not, he could read her mind as though she¡¯d spoken her thoughts aloud. ¡°Well, it¡¯s simple, is it not? This world has a beginning. Meaning, it was created. Meaning, whatever created it cannot be of this world. As I am very much a creature of this time and place¡­there must be something greater, yes?¡±


    ¡°I¡­suppose?¡±


    He chuckled indulgently. ¡°Now, the real trick is thinking the implications through. You should have a long talk with Yngmir if you really want to get wrapped up in it. But in any case,¡± he sighed, ¡°all of that is part of a larger bramble of ideas we need not delve tonight. My more immediate concern is you. Ah, here we are.¡±


    They had come to a spot where the trail meandered to the cliff¡¯s edge, and the topsoil was too shallow for trees. It wasn¡¯t perfectly semicircular, but close enough, and the grass was short and speckled with white flowers.


    In the center of the glade sat a bench. Not a hollow, flimsy wooden thing made of slats and gaps, but a huge oblong stone, knee-high on E?rrach and warm limestone yellow-white. Its outside face was carved with looping, fluid, many-sided emblems, some rounded and swirling, some angular and pointed. Some had three points or lobes, some seven, some eight. There was some significance there she didn¡¯t know, and which E?rrach declined to explain.


    The First of Four took a seat on the bench, and, with a profound soft sigh, he relaxed.


    Ellaenie grit her teeth as the sensation of his ease washed over her. There was a feeling like being yanked sharply towards him for the barest shadow of an instant, a rather longer feeling of being stretched or pummeled somehow. The mere fact of him was enough to make the world creak.


    In fact, when she looked around¡­she noticed a slight shimmer in the air, in a hazy bubble extending about ten yards in all directions from King E?rrach. Everything beyond seemed somehow distant and slow, while simultaneously moving too fast¡ª


    She was looking through something she didn¡¯t understand, and it was wildly disorienting.


    E?rrach noted her distress. ¡°If you will forgive me, this spot is one of the few where I can truly relax. What you felt was the magic of this place taking on the pressure of my being.¡± He grinned softly, ¡°You would be extremely ill-advised to step through that field. In here we are partially disconnected from the universe, and that affords me an opportunity to be fully embodied without endangering all creation. You can feel it, yes? Feel the pull?¡±


    She could. It was as if there was a vast, impossibly powerful tug that was there somehow, nipping at her very being, trying to yank her towards the King with a strength that would annihilate her¡­yet it wasn¡¯t able to. Somehow, the force was a ghost, felt but not effective.


    ¡°I¡­yes. It¡¯s a strange sensation.¡±


    ¡°That is the gravity of my mass-energy you¡¯re feeling. Here, it will not truly affect you, and that means I can let go. You have no idea how freeing that feels, even though it¡¯s habitually effortless. I don¡¯t indulge often, and I do not share this with many, but you¡­are someone I appreciate.¡±


    Ellaenie sighed in turn, and, feeling that he intended for her to join him, she hopped up onto the bench and swung her legs. ¡°I don¡¯t know what I have done to deserve it. Not you, or Rheannach, or Saoirse.¡±


    E?rrach laughed, deeply from his belly. ¡°Oh, to be so young! As if any of us could earn love!¡±


    Ellaenie didn¡¯t know quite how to think about that, so she pressed onward. ¡°¡­That map you spoke of. Might it have some answers?¡±


    ¡°Maybe.¡± He flashed an infuriating smile, and wrapped a tremendous arm around her tenderly. That feeling of incredible power pulling at her was almost dizzyingly powerful, yet she felt safe and comfortable against him; she snuggled against his unyielding flank and enjoyed his affection and his heavy musk and the furnace-like heat of him.


    ¡°Maybe you like riddles,¡± she looked up and teased, gently. That square-set face of his¡ªthe study in exaggerated male brutality¡ªwas nothing but kindness and delight.


    ¡°Or maybe it is just that you are young, and to be young is to be wrought of pure potential, while the old can sense great potential when it manifests.¡±


    ¡°Potential might never lead to anything, though,¡± Ellaenie pointed out. ¡°I think I¡¯d rather know I was bound for something, than just have the potential.¡±


    ¡°But if I told you what you were bound for, might that not change your course?¡±


    ¡°If my course is a storm that will sweep me into eclipse¡­¡±


    ¡°It might be, yet.¡± He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his great knees. Away on the lake¡¯s far side and through the gentle shimmer of the ¡®field,¡¯ a thin coil of smoke was rising from where Rheannach was lighting the bonfire. ¡°But what I see and admire in you, Ellaenie, is that you could be a skilled helmsman, so to speak. And what kind of steward would I be if I robbed you of the opportunity to set your own course? After all, if you never navigate the dangers yourself, you won¡¯t ever become the expert I know you can be.¡±


    ¡°I have no idea what my course is, now,¡± Ellaenie said, wearily. ¡°Yesterday it seemed so clear¡­¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s because you haven¡¯t thought, yet. Come: think aloud. Let me be your rubber duck.¡±


    ¡°¡­.I beg your pardon?¡±


    E?rrach laughed, seemingly embarrassed with himself. ¡°Forgive me, that is an idea older than this world. Older than me, even! Once, long ago, it was the habit of certain¡­let¡¯s call them mages, or scribes perhaps¡­anyhow, when faced with a particularly twisty bit of logic or something, they had learned that simply explaining the situation to something¡ªa rubber duck, commonly¡ªquite magically helped them solve the problem in their own head. And so¡­think aloud. What is the problem you face, and what can you do about it?¡±


    Well¡­okay. May as well. And it sounded wise, absurd though he¡¯d made it. ¡°I¡­don¡¯t have any power left,¡± she said, thinking slowly. ¡°Well, no. I still have the Craft, of course. But Enerlend, that¡¯s gone. I can¡¯t go there safely, the other dukes are probably under our enemy¡¯s thrall¡­anyone there now could be his agent. All my political influence is gone¡­or most of it, I suppose. I might be able to bank on being Saoirse¡¯ student in Crae Vhannog, and many of the common people of Enerlend might still remember me fondly¡­maybe some of the nobles, too. Until Civorage enslaves them all, anyway. So I suppose it depends how swiftly and aggressively he claims them. How swiftly can he claim them? I don¡¯t know¡­¡±


    ¡°That, I can answer,¡± E?rrach said. ¡°He has great power to dominate a mind and compel action through a proxy, but that requires his constant effort and attention. He is not such as I, nor has he the requisite being to be so, thank God. The permanent ensnarement of a will? Erasing a person and replacing them with his own creature? For him, that must be done in person, and it would take him some time. And the result will be quite fragile, to one versed in the Craft.¡±


    ¡°¡­So I could break his hold over Lisze?¡±


    ¡°You? Not yet. You¡¯re still very much a student of the Craft, an apprentice.¡±


    ¡°Then I need to grow in the Craft. Now more than ever,¡± Ellaenie decided. ¡°But from who? I have lost my Beldame, and my Mother is¡­she has higher concerns. Doesn¡¯t she?¡±


    ¡°Your Mother, my love, is your Mother. The relationship between Maiden and Mother in a coven is the tightest and most intimate for good reason. Do you think she¡¯d have risked herself for just anyone?¡± E?rrach looked out toward the distant glimmer of firelight. ¡°She loves you so dearly she risked everything to snatch you from the enemy¡¯s jaws. And now she invites you to grieve with her. You, as her Maiden, are a very high concern indeed for her. Especially now. But in my experience, past a certain point, the best way to learn any trade is to take an apprentice of your own.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not ready for that!¡± Ellaenie said, automatically. The very thought made her heart lurch.


    ¡°If you say so, though I suspect you underestimate yourself. But maybe so, in which case that¡¯s something to work towards.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not¡­qualified¡­to be a Mother.¡±


    ¡°Something to work towards there, too.¡± E?rrach said. His light, teasing tone carried an undertone of seriousness. And along with it, a not-too-subtle offer¡­


    Again, the idea wasn¡¯t at all unwelcome. Yet, somehow, she knew it wasn¡¯t quite right.


    ¡°Well¡­yes.¡± Ellaenie sighed. ¡°That was something I¡¯d hoped for. Soon. Now, I don¡¯t suppose being courted is ever likely¡­¡±


    Which made her consider the tacit offer yet again. He would be quite someone to love¡ªbut he had other advice for her.


    ¡°My love, yours will be the opposite problem. Even if you quit into obscurity as some peasant mill worker somewhere, you will have suitors, I promise you that.¡±


    The sentiment warmed her somewhat. ¡°You believe so?¡±


    Perhaps that was her heart fishing for a compliment, but regardless of motivation, he did not disappoint. ¡°I said it at our last meeting: you are lovely. A man who does not desire you must feel no desire for women whatsoever.¡±


    ¡°Courted¡­maybe. But¡­all that goes with it? Marriage? Children?¡± Ellaenie sighed. ¡°I was looking forward to all that. Now, it would feel like an indulgence, a dereliction of my responsibilities. And even if not¡­an extra responsibility when I already have so many on my shoulders.¡±


    ¡°Children are a lot of work, no doubt,¡± E?rrach agreed, then turned to look down on her. ¡°But my experience at least is, they are the opposite of a burden, and they are the responsibility which makes all other responsibilities worthwhile.¡±


    ¡°But the world is¡­¡± Ellaenie hesitated, then gestured vaguely back in the general direction of Garanhir. ¡°There¡¯s a madman out there bent on enslaving us all. Any child brought into this world right now is in danger of that fate.¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± E?rrach agreed. ¡°And the morality of bringing a child into a dangerous world to face its dangers has troubled mankind from the very beginning. But I would put before you, perhaps, a small hint: I do not suggest anything in blindness to the topology of the future. I offer my advice. You are welcome to take it, modify it, or ignore it. That said¡­¡±


    ¡°I would be wise to listen,¡± Ellaenie said, perhaps a bit glumly.


    Which E?rrach did not let slip by. ¡°You feel perhaps you might be dodging some heroic duty.¡±


    ¡°Aren¡¯t I? It seems like I¡¯m the one this has come to¡­¡±


    ¡°Not the only one. There are, and will be, others. And if that does not suffice, then let me offer a further re-assurance: he is at this point destined to lose. Saoirse worked a curse on him the likes of which this creation has never seen. Remember those surprises I hinted at? That was one of them. He will be defeated. All timelines converge on that point, even if I must eventually destroy him myself. What matters now is the nature of his defeat, and the character of the free peoples¡¯ victory. And that matters quite a bit. So¡­¡±


    ¡°So I shouldn¡¯t feel the need to sacrifice myself, too.¡±


    ¡°All must sacrifice in this world. That is, after all, what death is all about. The secret to life is knowing when and what sacrifice is demanded of you. I think, for you, right now, there may be a calling to abnegation¡ªyour sacrifice may well be standing back and gathering yourself. But I cannot know! That is for you and God to discern, not me. I can only offer advice.¡±


    ¡°You can offer a lot more than that.¡±


    ¡°Heh!¡± He drew his thick legs up under himself to sit cross-legged, spread his hands palm-upwards on his knees, and exhaled. He wasn¡¯t blatantly showing off, not this time. But he was quite deliberately making himself seen precisely as he was. And¡­


    ¡­Well, he was, among other things, the god of strength, virility, manliness, and the wild hunt, in all its carnal intentions. ¡°¡­Yes. I can offer deep and surpassing knowledge of the Craft and the Art, of the histories of this creation and of the World Before. I can offer you immortality for as long as you wish it, youth for as long as you desire it, a physical and magical might beyond the scope of ordinary humans. I can offer you love, and the consummation of love. I could even elevate you and set you among the Heralds.¡±


    ¡°But I haven¡¯t earned any of that.¡± Ellaenie curled her own legs up alongside her and again leaned against his flank, resting a comparatively tiny hand affectionately on his vast and mighty leg. ¡°That all sounds¡­wonderful, but hollow, if that makes sense. I¡¯d be left feeling like I was a toy and a plaything, or like I had something to live up to.¡±


    ¡°Can you not just accept a gift?¡±


    ¡°¡­I¡­no. No I can¡¯t. I want to feel worthy of whatever gifts I receive.¡±


    He sighed, shaking his great head. ¡°You are too young and eager to realize it, but that is a breathtakingly arrogant statement. Since when has worthiness been any factor in a gift? All is gift, Ellanie. Your circumstances, your friends, your talents and interests, your very life itself. None of us can possibly merit those gifts, and that is precisely the point!¡±


    ¡°I¡­is it? I thought you were human once¡ª¡±


    ¡°Was, and am! But not without help! Do you think I became what I am by some great act of intellect? Some stupendous contrivance of science? No! I am what I am, we are what we are, both by the willing life-gifts of many, many good beings over many billions of years, and the action of grace beyond us all. Once the revelation of the Final Secret had been given¡­¡± He drifted off, and looked down at his great, blunt hands, opening and closing them a few times. Then he sighed and his rough palm hugged her shoulder¡ªalmost her entire upper back, actually. ¡°You are so very much like Rheannach.¡±


    ¡°I am?¡±


    ¡°That feeling of worthiness has ever been at the heart of our falling-outs.¡±


    ¡°Would you love her so much if she accepted all her power and all your affection as her right and due?¡± Ellaenie asked.


    ¡°Ah.¡± He nodded thoughtfully. ¡°There we run into a self-fulfilling prophecy. She is as she is precisely because that is who I would love the most. If I was the sort of man who would better love a high and entitled queen, she would be a high and entitled queen.¡±


    ¡°¡­So¡­to accept gifts without any thought to deserving them is entitlement, but wanting to deserve them is arrogance? I think I understand why she struggles with you sometimes,¡± Ellaenie said.


    He laughed. ¡°Thus you prove me right again! That¡¯s a sentiment that could have come off her tongue¡­and even that too is a part of my love for her. I do not want a weak and doting plaything. I want Rheannach. In all her passion, all her cleverness, all her uncertainties and angst and fire and wit.¡± He unfolded his legs and leaned forward to look across the lake again, gazing fondly at her off in the distance, and exhaling the soft sigh of a man completely in love. ¡°She¡¯s the perfect woman for me. Never more so than when she¡¯s mad at me.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve¡­twice now, you¡¯ve hinted that you¡¯d very much like to have me for a lover,¡± Ellaenie said.


    He turned his attention sidelong toward her, and¡­yes. There it was. A twinkle in his eyes, and he was gently showing off again, by the way the lines of his body tightened without any overt show of effort. He was so much that even his subtleties were blunt and unmistakable. ¡°I would, yes.¡±


    ¡°If Rheannach is the perfect woman for you, how can your eye stray like that?¡±


    ¡°Love is a different for a Crown: we are not gods, but we are channels of the Infinite.¡± He paused, and corrected himself. ¡°Well¡­that¡¯s true of everyone in some sense, but we are wider channels than most, let¡¯s say. Or more general, or of a higher order. Among the transcendentals of all Reality, Love is the crowning glory, and I am presently its anointed instrument in this universe. I can and do love everything within this creation with the fullness of my being, which is a mystery the people of this world aren¡¯t ready for. Admittedly, I do tend to emphasize it in forms the people are presently able to accept¡­¡± and it was here he smirked and¡­well. He was King E?rrach, and Ellaenie couldn¡¯t help but giggle at his macho clowning around¡­and appreciate the show, even if being the target of it was rather more than she would normally have liked.


    He was a gentleman, though¡ªeven in how he was ungentlemanly. He relented after briefly having his fun, and continued his point. ¡°I enjoy it all too, because in truth I am charged to channel and embody love in all its forms. This is why I am also the builder-god of civilization in many traditions.¡±


    There was a lot to learn in that statement, and Ellaenie sensed it would be some work unpacking it, later on¡ªmost everything he shared involved much contemplation. Fortunately, she was graced with a sudden realization: ¡°you and Prince Sayf together are modeling man.¡±


    King E?rrach gave her warm, deeply satisfied look. ¡°Aye. Not perfectly, but understandably and approachably. Queen Talvi and Lady Haust in turn model woman.¡±


    ¡°Imperfectly.¡±


    ¡°And approachably. As the people of this world grow in spiritual sophistication, we¡¯ve subtly changed our roles in culture and myth to adapt, especially in how we present ourselves. You are yet a very, very young people. Well-advanced in their technological ability, true enough: in fact, far more than we were at this point in our history. We¡¯d not yet invented the wheel! But we already understood philosophy better than your greatest masters do, even today¡­I¡¯m rambling, aren¡¯t I?¡±


    Ellaenie smiled. ¡°Yes, but it¡¯s okay. I enjoy your ramblings. And it does help me understand.¡±


    ¡°Oh?¡±


    ¡°Yes. I mean, it helps me understand many things, but especially why you and Rheannach are as you are. At least a little.¡±


    ¡°Then you¡¯re doing better than I am some days!¡± He laughed and slapped one of his massive knees, which sent a force through the air that was simultaneously far and away the most violent thing she¡¯d ever felt, and yet did nothing to her. Right then, his every tiny little movement carried the power of mountains and fire, yet she feared it not¡ªstrange magic indeed, in this place.


    ¡°And also,¡± he added, having re-settled himself on the stone, ¡°as I said: you are very much alike.¡±


    ¡°As alike as a mother and daughter?¡±


    ¡°In one sense, maybe.¡±


    ¡°Well that¡¯s the sense I feel most keenly. So, carrying on like you do with me when I have that sort of relationship with your wife¡­it feels a little¡­¡±


    ¡°I was going to say inappropriate, but¡­grotesque, yes.¡±


    ¡°Grotesque?¡±


    E?rrach paused and hummed thoughtfully at the sky for a second. At length he lowered his head again and replied.


    ¡°For the Crowns, relationship comes in all forms, as we ourselves have experienced many forms over deep time. Our experience is encompassing in a way I do not think you will ever properly appreciate, meaning no offense. To Sayf I am simultaneously father, brother, son, colleague, friend, and lover, because over deep ?ons I have lived embodied as all those things, as well as forms of love you have neither experience of nor words for. And he the same to me, and so it is between all of us. While there are inescapable themes between us¡ªI am an innately dominant personality, for example, in ways the others are not¡ªthe forms of our experiences has encompassed all realizations. With great age comes a fullness of experience. With youth, however, comes intensity, and one so young as you is best served by being one thing to each person. And your instincts know it.¡±


    ¡°Well, then I know what my answer to you must be. Because if I am best served by being one thing only to Rheannach, I¡¯d rather remain her Maiden. Accepting your love would change the relationship between us, and¡­I¡¯m not ready for that. Not yet.¡±


    He nodded as though receiving the answer he had entirely expected, and approved of.


    ¡°I would be equally honored to be as a father to you, and all that entails.¡±


    ¡°I think¡­I think that¡¯s what I need more,¡± Ellaenie admitted.


    ¡°Then that is what we are to each other.¡± He bent down and kissed the top of her head. ¡°And I am very happy.¡±


    She looked up at him¡­and her heart melted. His expression wasn¡¯t the same. Now, instead of courting, even predatory, it was tender, and affectionate. Fatherly. Though he did wink at her, stood up suddenly, and with a snap of his fingers, clothed himself in a handsome set of leathers appropriate to the hardy woodsman he was, deep in the core of his soul.


    ¡°I think, going forward, it might be more appropriate if I acquiesced to some covering. What do you think?¡±


    ¡°It, um¡­frankly, you could wear a couple of burlap sacks and a dead badger and you¡¯d still have¡­presence.¡±


    ¡°Ha! Like this?¡± And sure enough¡­


    Ellaenie couldn¡¯t help but giggle. Her giggle made him chuckle, his chuckle made her laugh, her laugh made him roar. And with that, as their mirth ran away with them and made Rheannach on the far side of the lake look up and stare at them, it also crystallized them. A father and a daughter, goofing around. It made Ellaenie feel¡­somehow, she felt whole again. As if she¡¯d finally got back something that had been cruelly torn away from her, altered and never again to be quite the same, but still welcome nonetheless.


    ¡°We should head back,¡± he offered. ¡°Come!¡± He extended an arm, and Ellaenie felt herself enveloped in a cradling embrace. The reverse sensation of him re-composing himself and his sanctuary releasing his grip crawled over her, but then it was over¡ªhe was back to the restrained self she now knew was his usual habit. He looked down, grinned at her, then he leaped¡ªthe most trivial thing for him, just bouncing on his toes, really¡ªand they sailed over the lake, landing quietly on the far side, right next to the fire.


    That he could will himself to such careful silence was terrifying in its own right. But now, he offered it as a gift, for the comfort of those he cared about.


    Rheannach looked up at them to say hello, then blinked at her husband. ¡°¡­What are you wearing?¡±


    ¡°Her idea.¡±


    Rheannach looked to Ellaenie; Ellaenie gave her a small grin and a shrug. She saw a number of emotions flit over her Mother¡¯s face, not least of which was a measure of pleased relief. In the end, Rheannach settled for stifling a smile and shaking her head as though she disapproved, unconvincingly.


    King E?rrach resumed his woodsman¡¯s leathers. Notably, they fit rather tighter this time¡­always showing off for Rheannach. Ellaenie giggled at the realization. He really was madly in love.


    She¡¯d made the right choice, she was certain of it.


    She sat down on the log by the fire and exhaled. ¡°I suppose I can¡¯t really stay here. Not if I want to rebuild any kind of a power base and serve my people.¡±


    ¡°Mm.¡± Rheannach shrugged slightly, in a complicated way with both a nod and a shake mixed into it. ¡°This is a wonderful place to build certain kinds of power¡­and you will need them.¡±


    ¡°Political and temporal power, though¡­¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ll need those too. And you¡¯re right, this is no place to cultivate them.¡±


    ¡°Where, though? Would they have me in Crae Vhannog? As their late thaighn¡¯s Maiden, and with you to vouch for me¡ª¡±


    ¡°They would,¡± Rheannach agreed.


    ¡°But?¡±


    Rheannach sat back and stopped preparing her brew for a moment. ¡°Crae Vhannog is a wondrous place. Caisteal Vhannog is a witch¡¯s paradise, a fortress built by Art and Craft as much as by masonry, high on a hill. From its turrets, you can see the entire earthmote, from edge to edge in all directions, as though you were standing on the prow of an airship. You can watch the village lights gleaming at night, see the wains on the roads, even count the cattle and sheep in all the Crae¡¯s paddocks if you choose¡­¡±


    ¡°¡­So small?¡± Ellaenie asked.


    ¡°Tiny. Twenty thousand acres, and a fit man could run its length and back in an afternoon. You see the issue.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s no real political power to be found there,¡± Ellaenie nodded, grimly.


    ¡°There¡¯s some. But you need enough to take on all of Garanhir. And though the Craenen are good folk, they have a rhyme:


    ¡®Misen agin mi braithrun, as agin ar kaithrun; Kaith agin ar seoslaug, Seos agin ar bhailaug; Bhailaug agin na crae, dhen Crae agin na Craenen. An saibhadhen Craenen uile as agin soaghule.¡¯¡±


    ¡°Literally translated:¡± E?rrach offered, ¡°Me against my brothers, us against our kin; Kin against our neighbours, neighbours against our town; Our town against the Crae, then the Crae against the Craenen. And after the Craenen have fought each other, us against all the world.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d heard they could be, uh¡­fractious,¡± Ellaenie said, after a thoughtful moment.


    ¡°The surest way to unite two of the Craenen against you is to pick a side in their squabble,¡± Rheannach said, with a smile. ¡°I love them dearly. They¡¯re fierce, independent, proud, musical, magical, brave and wise. If they could be united, they would be a formidable ally¡­do you think you can do it?¡±


    ¡°¡­Not yet.¡±


    E?rrach grinned. ¡°Spoken like Saoirse,¡± he said.


    ¡°Not really. I daresay if I was truly following her example I¡¯d¡­¡± she paused, as her brain caught up with her mouth. ¡°¡­Huh.¡±


    ¡°Oho! that¡¯s the face of somebody who just had an idea!¡± Rheannach said. She picked up the cup she was brewing in. Her mixture seemed different this time: more herbal, less mushroomy. ¡°A token for your thoughts?¡±


    ¡°¡­I was just thinking¡­if I was truly after Saoirse¡¯s manner, I¡¯d propose to Sayf and join his harem.¡±


    They both burst out laughing, but it was the very opposite of mockery.


    ¡°Oh, that¡¯s good!¡± E?rrach boomed.


    ¡°Well, his spouses are renowned worldwide for their influence, skill, talent and connections. Joining their number would be¡ª¡± Ellaenie began.


    ¡°No, absolutely! You¡¯re completely right! His Oasis is a place where you might operate openly without fear of reprisal, and the perfect place to start finding allies.¡±


    ¡°Each of the Harem are worth a dozen thaighns, at least,¡± Rheannach agreed.


    ¡°And you still get your courtship and all the rest that you thought you had lost into the bargain,¡± E?rrach added, and here he offered one of his trademark infuriatingly attractive grins, ¡°I leave the details to you. I think you¡¯ll figure it out.¡±


    Rheannach smirked at him. ¡°Definitely.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t¡­you wouldn¡¯t mind?¡±


    ¡°Why would we?¡± King E?rrach shrugged. ¡°I am supreme, this side of death. I have been beyond competition in this universe and the last for longer than the other Crowns have existed. Why should I feel anything but delight for you and for one of my oldest and closest? He and you would make a delightful match.¡±


    ¡°If I¡¯m worthy¡­¡± Ellaenie fretted.


    ¡±That, Maiden mine, is entirely within your power.¡± Rheannach said, firmly. ¡°But¡­enough of your power base and plans for now. We may have grieved as friends for our friend, but the coven is now two and there is a ritual to perform.¡±


    E?rrach nodded, kissed her cheek, kissed Ellaenie¡¯s brow, and rose. ¡°I¡¯ll leave you to it.¡±


    He slipped away with all the stealth of a huntsman, returning around the arc of the lake faster than his seemingly slow gait would suggest. Ellaenie sighed, closed her eyes, and focused her mind.


    ¡°Are we to be skyclad for this?¡± she asked. It didn¡¯t feel appropriate, somehow.


    ¡°No. That¡¯s for celebration and joy. Not for this.¡±


    ¡°Good. It¡­didn¡¯t feel right.¡±


    ¡°Your intuition guides you well.¡± Rheannach offered her the cup. ¡°Come on. There are so many rituals she never got to teach you, but common to all of them is that the Maiden drinks first.¡±


    Ellaenie nodded, and drank half. The brew was bitter, spicy, herbal. The pungency of licorice, fennel, aniseed, asafoetida, and others she didn¡¯t know shot right to the back of her throat and up her nose, but she fought back the impulse to sneeze, and instead drew a sharp breath. Rheannach nodded, took back the cup, and drained the rest before dropping the wet bouquet of herbs into the fire to smoke it up.


    She took Ellaenie¡¯s hands. ¡°Summon up the Sight, and form a picture of Saoirse in your mind. All you knew of her, all she did for you, all your feelings toward her, all the feelings you felt from her¡­picture the lines of her face, the way she braided her hair, the texture and colour of her shawl. Picture her as clearly and completely as you can¡­¡±


    At first, it was difficult. Ellaenie was able to picture only pieces of the whole, like the facets of a gem. Images flashed through her head of the way the old woman¡¯s cheeks had dimpled when she smiled, the raucous grate of her snore, the particular way she would fidget her cane from hand to hand as she orbited the room while teaching¡­


    Slowly, it started to come together, though. Distractions faded away, the heat of the fire and the rush of the breeze dimmed into the background and ceased to bother her. Even the feel of Rheannach¡¯s hands in hers became unfelt. In the black void behind her eyes, and Saoirse¡¯s image grew clearer, sharper, more defined¡­


    Until, in a moment that felt like blinking without her eyes either opening or shutting, she was standing on an unseen solid surface in a black room, its walls and floor and ceiling so dark and so far away they didn¡¯t really exist, yet glimpsed still by the peculiar un-hue of hallucination as one might see in the dead of knight when knuckling one¡¯s eyelids.


    And Saoirse, standing in front of her.


    ¡°Oh¡­child. I was half afraid ye were¡¯nae ready for this. By the old God, ¡®tis good to see you a last time afore I go, Maiden mine.¡±


    Ellaenie blinked, feeling now entirely like her own body was here in this dark place, and whatever was standing back in the real world was¡ª


    The spell wavered. Saoirse reached out, took her hand, and steadied her. ¡°Careful, Ellaenie. ¡®Tis a delicate thing, this moment. Once lost, it can ne¡¯er be remade.¡±


    ¡°I¡­are you real?¡±


    ¡°Och! Just like ye ¡®tae ask the hardest question first.¡± Saoirse cackled. ¡°The question that does¡¯nae matter, an¡¯ yet also matters the most. What does ¡®real¡¯ even mean? But, neither ye nor I have time enough tae answer it.¡±


    ¡°¡­You¡¯re real enough,¡± Ellaenie decided.


    ¡°Aye.¡± The tender memory of a long, frail hand touched Ellaenie¡¯s cheek as though tidying some errant hair away. ¡°This is the last rite ¡®fer a Beldame. Her passing advice tae her sisters. Whe¡¯er it is true communion wi¡¯ her spirit afore it crosses the threshold, or the witch¡¯s own inner Craft givin¡¯ voice tae what she knew o¡¯ her mentor¡­not even the Four know. But ¡®tis a chance to say our farewells properly, an¡¯ take a final counsel.¡±


    Ellaenie sniffed, though there were no tears here in this vision. ¡°I feel¡­I feel like I should have seen it coming. Like I could have prevented it. Like you¡¯d still be alive if I¡¯d just kept focused.¡±


    ¡°Aye, o¡¯ course. But ye forget, my love, beldames know just as much as ye and then a lot more atop it. We have sight an¡¯ schemes beyond thine.¡±


    ¡°You mean¡­you saw this coming? You predicted your death and planned for it?¡±


    ¡°An¡¯ I stuck a sharp pin in our enemy afore I went. He¡¯ll feel its pain the rest o¡¯ his days. Perhaps if I had not, perhaps if we had escaped as ye dream of now, it all would turn out for worse. Perhaps my death was needed, if ye are to see a happy end tae these dark days.¡±


    ¡°You can¡¯t know that¡­¡± Ellaenie replied, made sullen by her renewed sadness.


    ¡°Can I not? Well, may ye live long and well enough tae know what it is like to have an innocent girl but a fragment o¡¯ yer age lecture ye about what ye can and cannae know¡­¡±


    Ellaenie¡¯s laugh got stuck in her nose and became almost a scoff. ¡°That almost sounds like another curse.¡±


    ¡°The very opposite, darling. May thy life be long, and full o¡¯ the joys an¡¯ folly of girls younger¡¯n ye¡­think ye tae marry my old husband?¡±


    ¡°I do. I think¡­¡±


    ¡°Good. Name thy daughter after me.¡± Her cackle almost rang off whatever invisible walls this vision theatre had, then she turned and glanced over her shoulder. When she looked back, her expression had changed. ¡°Two last bits I have, afore I go.¡±


    Ellaenie nodded, feeling too weak and trembling to speak now. The first goodbye had been cruel for its shocking speed and suddenness. This was cruel because there was so much more she wanted to say, and hear¡­two bits was not enough. But she listened nonetheless.


    ¡°First¡­go to Sayf last. Visit Talvi at her keep, an¡¯ dance wi¡¯ Haust at her circle o¡¯ stones. Go tae the Oasis last, for ye¡¯ll not leave there for many a year after.¡±


    ¡°I will,¡± Ellaenie promised.


    ¡°And the second¡­¡±


    She stepped forward, spread her arms wide, and wrapped them around Ellaenie. Ellaenie closed her eyes, wrapped her arms around her mentor, leaned into the ghost and memory and whisper of a tight, fond, hug¡­


    Farewell, beloved.


    Farewell¡­ Ellaenie replied, holding Saoirse¡¯s memory as tight as she possibly could¡ª


    And then she was awake and blinking, back in life and reality and the world again, feeling hollow and raw with tears running so freely that they dripped off her chin. Opposite her, still holding her hands, Rheannach was opening her own eyes with the same pain and sorrow written in her own expression.


    For a second they stared at each other. Then they collided in a tight hug and did not let go again for a very, very long time. And yet, they were both glad. They had said their goodbyes properly, this time; an opportunity afforded to none but witches, bittersweet though it was.


    It had been exactly, perfectly what Ellaenie needed. She felt cleansed, she felt secure, she felt ready to pick up her stick and continue the long walk forward.


    And that, all by itself, was perhaps the most powerful magic she¡¯d seen today.


    <hr>


    <blockquote>


    Arthenun Il?yeda! The Eni-Il?yedu avoid the City of Gardens, saying it represents everything they believe is wrong with urban living. But in this I cannot agree with them, nor it seems can many other writers. How many leagues of ink have have been spent writing how many poems in a vain effort to capture the palladium of Il?yede? How does one encompass the sweet spice of such unlimited splendor and vice in mere words? I shall not even try; you must visit for yourself. If you can go nowhere else in all the worlds, go to Arthenun Il?yeda at least once. ¡ªPrince Ruber of Valai, My Travels


    </blockquote>


    <h2>The Peacock Garden</h2>


    The Oasis, Alhulw Earthmote


    09.05.15.12.13


    A drop of water landed on Pal¡¯s book and left behind a dark, ragged circle as it soaked into the paper, causing her to look up sharply. Just in time for a twin droplet to strike her on the cheek.


    ¡°¡­Rain?¡±


    She snapped the book shut, unfurled her legs from the garden couch she was lounging on, and rose to her feet as she tucked the book under her arm for protection. It was, definitely, raining. A few more spots struck her arms and shoulders and darkened her dress¡ªa shame, that, as it would leave a mark on the silk¡ªbut now that she was upright she could see a silvery wall of weather sweeping toward her.


    Pal was, she knew of herself, an eternally calculating woman, and she had two options in this moment. The first was to flee the oncoming rain, fail to outrun it, and make it into cover looking undignified and soaked and distressed¡ªnot her way at all¡ªand the second was to strut proudly back into the palace and wear the inevitable soaking like a fashion statement.


    She protected the book as best she could and took the latter approach. The rain, when it reached her, was the perfect tepid temperature for a refreshing bathe, so she straightened her back and lifted her chin, and strode through the front doors a minute or so later with her dress stuck thinly and transparently to her skin, but her dignity and power entirely intact. Several nearby visitors boggled at her; the effect of the drenched fabric was rather more than mere nudity would have been, but such exposure held neither shame nor fear for Pal. She ignored them and, resisting the urge to finger, flap or loosen her soaked garb and thereby betray any discomfort, she strode on through the statue hall, took one of the hidden doors, then another, then a third and so entered the seraglio.


    Two of her fellow crownspouses, Lokar and Galan, looked up at her as she entered, and promptly forgot all about their game board.


    ¡°¡­Caught in the rain?¡± Galan asked, after a second.


    ¡°Nobody told me,¡± Pal replied, tightly, ¡°we were due to have any today.¡±


    ¡°We weren¡¯t,¡± Lokar replied as he rose from his seat. ¡°You need a hand with that?¡±


    ¡°Thank you.¡±


    ¡°Mhm.¡± He chuckled as magic shimmered around his hand. ¡°Let me just fix the sight in my memory first¡­¡±


    Pal folded her arms and feigned an impatient, cold look, but to the contrary his joke took the sting out of what might otherwise have been a humiliation. ¡°Whenever you¡¯re ready.¡±


    ¡°Heh!¡±


    He gestured, and a pleasant warmth like a sauna folded around her. Within seconds, she was steaming; Galan opened a window to let the sudden humidity disperse. After a minute more, she was dry and perfectly warm. Pal shook herself from head to toe, licked her suddenly dry mouth, and exhaled. Thank you,¡± she said, and kissed Lokar lightly on the lips. ¡°I suppose we should check on him.¡±


    ¡°Aye.¡± Lokar shook his hand as though he¡¯d burned it slightly. ¡°Unscheduled rain? A sure sign of a strong mood. Unusually strong.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s had a few of those, lately,¡± Galan agreed. ¡°Something big is happening, I¡¯m sure of it.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s this new Oneist cult,¡± Pal told him, as she thumbed her book to make sure it too was dry. The pages had warped a little from the damp, alas. ¡°I¡¯ve been keeping an eye on them for him. They trouble him greatly.¡±


    ¡°The ones who came out of nowhere? I¡¯ve not looked closely.¡±


    ¡°What do they believe?¡± Galan asked. He held the door open for them both.


    ¡°Well¡­at first blush, their public literature seems benign enough. An appeal for the lost, the lonely, the adrift and the dissatisfied to come find community, purpose and oneness.¡± Pal shook her head as she stepped through the door, touching his arm gratefully as she did so. ¡°I haven¡¯t been able to read any of their private material, but some of my many friends who¡¯ve spoken to Oneists tell me they¡¯re¡­bitter. Crown-hating. Elf-hating. Human supremacist.¡±


    This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.


    ¡°Hm. Not like him to trouble over such things.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s something more to them,¡± Pal revealed. ¡°Something he hasn¡¯t told me, yet.¡±


    ¡°Maybe we¡¯ll find out now,¡± Lokar predicted.


    The trio wove their way deeper into the palace. To those who knew the Oasis intimately, Sayf¡¯s location within it could never be a secret, and right now his presence was a weight, a pull, moving toward him almost felt like falling downhill*.* He was in the observatory, right at the earthmote¡¯s trailing tip, where a viewer in the round glass room was surrounded on three sides by sky.


    Lightning flashed a few miles as they entered, adding light and majesty to a distant column of cloud. A few seconds later, the boom of its voice briefly overwhelmed the already deafening drumroll of rain on the glass. Their husband, Prince Sayf, was standing at the far end of the room, watching the weather and smoking. He half-turned his head as they entered, then beckoned them to join him.


    ¡°Hello, loves.¡±


    They crowded around him, touched and held and comforted him.


    ¡°Something happened,¡± Pal prompted, after a minute.


    He nodded. ¡°¡­Saoirse has passed.¡±


    Pal¡¯s long-cultivated poise shattered, instantly. She blinked as though struck, opened her mouth, closed it again, sketched a helpless shape in the air with a fluttering hand and sudden tears leapt into her eyes. ¡°¡­Oh.¡± she said. It was a soft sound, high and plaintive and heartbroken, like a child complaining at having a toy taken away for bedtime.


    She turned her head away and stood still for a long second, grief breaking her posture in a way that driving rain and public exposure never could. After a moment, she took a high and sharp breath, then another easier one, swallowed and wrestled her face under control. ¡°I¡­forgive me. You couldn¡¯t break that news more gently, husband?¡± She gave him a small glare and wiped away a smear of diluted eyeliner from her cheek.


    ¡°Would Saoirse have?¡±


    ¡°Hah!¡± the miserable laugh echoed off the domed roof. ¡°¡­No. No, she wouldn¡¯t. Oh¡­dammit.¡±


    Sayf gave a small, sympathetic smile and put his arm around her. ¡°I thought the beauty of a storm was an appropriate tribute. I¡¯m sorry if you got caught in it.¡±


    ¡°You damaged one of my books.¡±


    ¡°¡­Forgive me.¡±


    ¡°You had weightier matters on your mind.¡±


    ¡°How did she go, in the end?¡± Lokar asked. ¡°Somehow, I can¡¯t imagine her shuffling off quietly of age and infirmity.¡±


    ¡°Didn¡¯t you feel it?¡± Sayf asked him. There was a pause, then Lokar¡¯s eyes grew wide.


    ¡°That was her?¡±


    ¡°What was her?¡± Galan and Pal asked, together.


    ¡°Ugh, untutored though you two are, I would have thought even you could have felt what happened last night. You two really are deaf and blind to magic, aren¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°Completely,¡± Pal agreed. ¡°What happened?¡±


    ¡°A working of¡­some sort. I couldn¡¯t make sense of it. But it was powerful. And¡­hateful. And righteous.¡±


    ¡°You can¡¯t make sense of it because you¡¯re a master of the Art,¡± Sayf told him. ¡°Saoirse was the greatest living mortal master of the Craft. And she gave her life as a sacrifice in the casting.¡±


    ¡°What did she do?¡± Lokar asked.


    ¡°Cursed a man.¡± Sayf sighed again, then shook his head. ¡°Forgive me, I¡¯m being cryptic. Come: sit. Cerida will be here soon, and then I¡¯ll tell all¡­¡±


    Rithas was simultaneously the oldest and the youngest of them, in that the first of her past selves to marry Sayf had done so three thousand years ago, but her present incarnation **had only returned to remarry him just eight months previously. She was a g?lfey this time, a wood elf. Cerida Limg?lcan Rithas, and Pal had to admit, she liked the new Rithas. There was something oddly erotic about green skin¡­


    But now was no time for such thoughts. Sayf greeted her with a touching of foreheeads and a brushing of noses, then sat down, framed against the distant rumbling tempest, and told them everything.


    He was, of course, the best and most engaging storyteller in the world, and even when relating the grim events of the Words, how Civorage had somehow uncovered one, his personal fears and suspicions as to how, why and what other forces might be at play, the terrible abuse Civorage was putting Mind to¡­


    There was no way to not be rapt.


    ¡°Why not mention this to us sooner, though?¡± Cerida asked once he¡¯d caught up to the previous day¡¯s events and Saoirse¡¯s death.


    ¡°Because Rheannach and Saoirse and King E?rrach himself were involved. That being the case, we didn¡¯t see it was worth troubling you with it.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not like you to miscalculate so,¡± Galan pointed out.


    ¡°We all did. The four of us. We know the Words well, so we expected Civorage to destroy himself. Instead, he¡¯s¡­surprised us. And now he¡¯s shown incredible power, power enough to rival a Herald. Rheannach took a great risk when she rescued Ellaenie.¡±


    ¡°My friends in Garanhir spoke highly of her, since she took the duchy,¡± Pal mused. ¡°And if Saoirse took her as an apprentice¡­are we to have a new wife, soon?¡±


    Sayf smiled. ¡°I won¡¯t be the one to ask.¡±


    ¡°Ah! Waiting to see if she¡¯s carrying on her mentor¡¯s legacy?¡± Pal nodded. ¡°She¡¯s a beauty, by all I¡¯ve heard. It¡¯d be a shame to miss out if she doesn¡¯t have the courage¡­¡±


    ¡°Mm,¡± Sayf replied, his mood warm, now. ¡°We shall see.¡±


    ¡°You mean we shall see. You already know, you old rascal.¡±


    He chuckled, and the sky behind him brightened a little as a few dark walls of cloud rolled back, admitting enough sunlight for rainbows. ¡°Do I?¡±


    ¡°Fine, fine¡­¡± Pal sighed, and looked out the window. ¡°Keep the rain, please. Saoirse always said it didn¡¯t rain enough, here.¡±


    ¡°I shall.¡±


    ¡°Good¡­¡± Pal faltered a little. She¡¯d only shared the harem with Saoirse for ten years or so, but she remembered the older woman¡¯s wit, skill and sharp mind well. Somehow, she¡¯d seemed like one of those people whose death was unthinkable, even as she grew venerable. All joking aside, all warm words notwithstanding¡­it suddenly came home to her that somebody she¡¯d loved, respected, valued and ever been glad to see was gone now. Forever.


    It hurt to a surprising degree. She¡¯d grieved for many over her prolonged life, including her mother and siblings. But death¡¯s ability to sting never truly faded, it seemed.


    Cerida put a hand on her shoulder and gave a small squeeze. Pal took her hand, squeezed it back in thanks.


    ¡°I shall, ah¡­I think I¡¯m going to¡­find something to do,¡± she said aloud.


    There were nods, compassionate and understanding from all quarters. Sayf gave her a reassuring kiss and a warm thought, and she retreated to her own apartments, grateful for the support, but now more than ever feeling the need to actually do some work. So she swept into her apartments, ordered tea with a bell chime, and from there through into a private study which rivalled any studious mage¡¯s in its way. And to those unfamiliar with her private shorthand, her notebooks would have seemed equally arcane.


    It probably would have surprised those who glanced at her and saw only a Crown¡¯s beautiful wife that Pal worked at all. But she hadn¡¯t got where she was on the back of her looks, oh no. Oh, that was where it had started, admittedly, but one didn¡¯t ascend from being born in a brothel to joining the Summer Harem on looks alone.


    Pal had much to be thankful for, but first among them was a mother who¡¯d known full well that a captivatingly pretty little girl who grew up in a brothel would most likely have her virginity auctioned away long before she could lose it undamaged in spirit, and had bent her every effort to giving her daughter a better life.


    Fortunately for them both, in Arthenun Il?yeda there were social strata even to prostitution. Pal¡¯s mother had not been the lowest of the low, those poor disease-ridden cheap ghosts on their way to an early tragic cremation, but the middle rung she occupied was no paradise either. The working girls of her brothel had endured a situation that was equal parts protection and exploitation, ever indebted, ever owing money to Madame. But at least there were armed men around to throw the undesirable and violent out of the building, and the power of dangerous names to scare the punters into remembering their manners.


    Her ambitions for Pal had extended to the third rung: Courtesan. In Arthenun Il?yeda, it was considered normal and decent for wealthy men to be waited on and entertained by cultured, intelligent, beautiful women as they conducted their business. The more stunning, enchanting and brilliant the woman, the higher the price she could command, and the less often ¡®entertaining¡¯ her client involved having sex with him¡ªthe best courtesans could name a price for access to their bodies that very, very few men would be able to pay, and those who could were generally too thrifty to be tempted.


    Pal had succeeded beyond her mother¡¯s wildest hopes. To make it into that rarified grouping in the first place, one needed to master the arts, philosophy, politics, business, tradition, lore, and so much more, but Pal had swiftly risen to become the very best. She¡¯d waited on the topmost echelons of society, performed for princes, dined with dukes and shared her thoughts with thaighns.


    And she had become wealthy. Not just from the exorbitant fee for her services, but from the inevitable river of gifts that came with it. She was a display of wealth, after all: the men who used her services were expected to show off just how generous they truly were, and so Pal had lived in a sprawling villa full of treasure, more jewels than she could ever wear, finer gowns than she would ever want to wear lest they seem like an attempt to compensate for failing beauty and thereby detract from her...


    But it hadn¡¯t been enough for her to be somebody else¡¯s display of wealth. So she¡¯d invested that treasure in people. Gifts and favors, bribes and contracts, secrets and rumors and most importantly, an ever-growing spider web of names. People she could put in contact with other people, people who could achieve things, who would do things because it was her asking, because her pockets were deep enough or her connections valuable enough to make any favour worthwhile.


    It was this, at last, which had drawn Sayf¡¯s attention. And far from tearing her away from her web, coming to the Oasis and marrying him had only broadened her reach. Now, her network of friends and boons spread across all the earthmotes, and penetrated deep into courts, companies and confidences that few others could access. If she really wanted to, she could very probably have arranged a meeting with one of the Five Inner Lords of the Yunei Empire.


    Not bad for a whore¡¯s daughter.


    There was no point in having a network like that if she didn¡¯t use it, though. And now¡­now she was stung. Hurt and grieving because of a man whose name and doings had reached her ears many times these past few years.


    Well. Now he¡¯d made a powerful enemy. She just hoped she was powerful enough.


    She selected her best letter paper and finest pen, chose an appropriate ink, then sat down at her writing desk.


    It was time to call in some favours.


    <hr>


    <blockquote>


    ¡°Look at the wall, and ask yourself whether you could have built it alone. Consider the cut stones, the mortar, the plaster and the paint. Do you know the secrets of making these? If you know any, you know only one or two at most. Now apply the same thought to your clothes, your carriage, your windows and floors and food. If it would consume all your effort to make one component yourself, how can any man claim self-sufficiency? He cannot: it is a lie. But now we have found this lie, how far must we chase it before we reach its end? And what truth will we find, once our quarry is brought down?¡±


    ¡ªNils Civorage, ¡°The Circle¡±


    </blockquote>


    <h2>Hiking in the hills</h2>


    E?rrach¡¯s private earthmote


    09.05.15.12.16


    Whether the Saoirse she had spoken to in her ritual trance was the real woman¡¯s lingering spirit, pausing on the threshold to say farewell, or had just been some intricate echo formed of memory, neither Ellaenie nor Rheannach could say. Either way, Ellaenie heeded her advice and went to the othe Crowns first, saving Sayf for last.


    King E?rrach certainly approved, and was kind enough to wave her off with home-cooked provisions. A huntsman¡¯s pie, good smoked jerky. Pemmican and biscuit just in case¡­


    He and Rheannach, of course, ate only because they enjoyed it. So the fare he provided her with was excellent, made to satisfy the belly not merely fill it. She wasn¡¯t straying off on a long voyage on foot across an earthmote, in any case.


    Still. As Rheannach led her through rough forest and down winding animal tracks that Ellaenie was not yet woodcrafty enough to notice, she became grateful for them. The pie in particular was exactly what her body needed after a hard few hours of hiking.


    This time, their transition between earthmotes was unsubtle. Their trail wound serpentine up the side of a hill, toward a bald summit where two craggy rocks thrust up through the soil like somebody had taken a giant woodcutter¡¯s axe to the land and succeeded only in notching it. Ellaenie had her head down as she labored up the slope¡ªlife as a duchess had not prepared her for long hikes across rough terrain, and her legs in particular were quite upset with her¡ªwhen she felt a change in the air as she passed between the cleft. The breeze blowing in her face had a real cold bite all of a sudden, far sharper than the Garanese crispness she was used to.


    She raised her head, and the landscape in front of her was entirely unlike what she¡¯d have guessed the far side of the hill to look like. There were no trees to be seen at all, just rolling scrub grass and heather, stretching brown and purple away into the hazy distance. When she turned and looked behind, the forest she¡¯d just climbed up out of was not to be seen: instead, a stony gorge yawned behind her, admitting a silvery tongue of fresh clean water that flowed down the hill beside her to her left.


    ¡°Oh!¡±


    Beside, her, Rheannach laughed softly. ¡°Jarring, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    ¡°Are these everywhere?¡±


    ¡°They are. And they were all wide open at first. How else do you think the First Peoples were scattered from the creation mote?¡±


    ¡°I always assumed they rode on wandering isles¡­¡± Ellaenie admitted.


    Rheannach shook her head as she paused to survey the landscape. ¡°Far too slow. No, in the early days you could go walking in the woods, step under a high root, and accidentally find yourself somewhere else entirely. When the Ordfey started to become cruel, we closed them down. Now, they only open to masters of the Craft.¡±


    ¡°Meaning the elves can¡¯t use them at all,¡± Ellaenie realized.


    ¡°Exactly. Our way of expressing disapproval.¡± Rheannach shook her head ruefully. ¡°They didn¡¯t take the hint. Anyway: look! Our destination is in view.¡±


    Ellaenie raised a hand to her brow and followed her pointing finger. Across an ocean of orange-brown grass and purple heather, one of the higher, barer swells of the land was crowned with tall, rough-carved menhirs.


    ¡°A stone circle?¡±


    ¡°The Court Unheld.¡± Rheannach stepped forward, and they were off downhill now, picking their way down a pale earthen channel carved through the grass by¡­what? Not the passage of feet, this place had a solitude to it that Ellaenie didn¡¯t need the Sight to feel in her bones. Rain, maybe? Tiny, dusty, flat stones scdded and crunched under her boots as she followed Rheannach down.


    There were no trees, anywhere on the earthmote. Even if one were to find its way here, she doubted it would survive: the soil banks along the path were only knee-high at their deepest, not enough for a stable root. And the wind biting her cheeks had a patient, restrained quality, hinting at a preference for bluster and storm. It was like the weather was a usually boisterous and fearsome dog that was sitting quietly on his best behaviour for guests.


    Their path dipped below the circle¡¯s level then rose back up to spiral in on it, approaching a nominal ¡°front¡± where a pair of extra stones broke the symmetry. As she looked inward between the menhirs, Ellaenie wondered when Lady Haust was going to¡ª


    She passed the last of the stones, and as she emerged on the far side she saw Haust was waiting for them in the middle of the circle, as though she¡¯d been standing there all along even though she hadn¡¯t been visible there a second before.


    There was something unsettling about the Lady of the Fall. The lower half of her face suggested a delicate, pale, faintly androgynous beauty. That jaw and those thin lips could equally have belonged to a supple young man as to a stern-faced woman. The loose wrap of her thin gray clothing betrayed nothing of the body underneath, despite being diaphanous enough to suggest the color of pale flesh.


    There was very little warm about her¡­except for her smile. She stepped forward to greet them, took Ellaenie¡¯s hands and hugged her like an old friend. ¡°Not many ever come here. Not even many witches.¡±


    ¡°Saoirse suggested it. Or¡­at least, the vision of her did,¡± Ellaenie explained.


    ¡°Well then. Welcome to the Court Unkept. I do not reign from here, I do not pass judgement, I do not entertain or even dwell here. I made it just to watch it decay¡­¡± Haust smiled around at the elderly, lichenous stones. ¡°So far, it is lasting rather well.¡±


    ¡°I thought¡­didn¡¯t I hear you were living as a mortal, somewhere?¡± Ellaenie asked.


    ¡°I am. Right now, I¡¯m playing with dolls while my mother brushes my hair.¡± Haust smiled fondly. ¡°She suspects me, I think. I¡¯m a precocious, too-wise child and I learned clear speech very quickly¡­but she won¡¯t ask. She doesn¡¯t really want to know for certain.¡± Haust smiled fondly. ¡°Power like a Crown¡¯s isn¡¯t contained to a single time or place. And of the four of us, I¡¯m the subtlest and the least¡­anchored.¡±


    Ellaenie jumped at a kiss on her left cheek. As she turned her head, another faceless witch smiled at her. ¡°I can be in many places if I wish,¡± the apparition said.


    ¡°Or none at all,¡± a third added, to her right. Ellaenie looked back at the first, only to find she was gone. Outside the circle, a mist was rising from the ground, rapidly becoming dense fog. The worlds were going away, leaving them stranded in a tiny circle with nothing outside.


    Rheannach was gone too. In her place, her magpie form hopped and croaked for a second, tilted her head, then took wing and departed. As Ellaenie followed her, the Hausts faded into shreds of mist and vanished as well. She was alone suddenly.


    It was a terrifying feeling. She trusted Rheannach and the Crowns completely, and yet this sudden isolation, this sudden feeling of being here in this cold and barren, blind place with nobody to talk to descended on her and made her shiver.


    ¡°I¡­what are you doing?¡± she asked, aloud.


    An echo from behind her. ¡°Sharing a lesson, young witch.¡±


    From her left: ¡°You have received one from the King.¡±


    From her right: ¡°Now it is my turn.¡±


    Ellaenie grit her teeth and fidgeted her fingers at her side. The feeling was intense now, as the fog closed in around her.


    A whisper in her ear. ¡°You¡¯re afraid.¡±


    Ellaenie steeled herself. ¡°Your doing.¡±


    Haust¡¯s voice darted and wove around her now, overlapping and muttering and echoing in her ears, and sometimes she fancied she felt the tickle of cloth against her clothing, the brush of fingertips, of breath on her ear and neck, but there was never anything to see. The fog was close now, penetrating the Court Unheld so that even the menhirs were just looming indistinct shadows, barely real.


    ¡°Yes.¡± ¡ª¡°You¡¯re alone.¡±¡ª¡°Uncertain.¡±¡ª¡°Ignorant.¡±¡ª¡°Lost.¡±¡ª¡°And I am making it worse.¡±¡ª¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± Ellaenie shivered, swallowed hard. ¡°I wish you¡¯d stop.¡±


    ¡°But this is what you came here for.¡±¡ª¡±This is my gift.¡±¡ª¡±If I stop now, you¡¯ll have learned nothing.¡±¡ª¡±Do you still want me to stop?¡±


    Ellaenie groaned. She was under a psychic assault now, the very air was thick and freezing with fear. The world was blind silver, nothing to see except the ghosts of her own imagination. Even Haust¡¯s whispers seemed less real than her own pounding heart and ragged breathing now, and beneath even them, at the very edges of her mind, she fancied she imagined muttering voices saying things about her just on the wrong side of a veil.


    She shut her eyes. Stiffened her muscles. ¡°What lesson?¡±


    ¡°You have nearly reached it.¡±


    ¡°What lesson?¡± Ellaenie demanded, her fear starting to transform into something else. She stood and stared hard out into the fog, bristling and still terribly anxious of the dread that wanted to crumple her to the floor, but more than anything else determined now to see what this was all in aid of.


    There was the faint crunch of a very real, physical footstep behind her.


    ¡°Take my hand.¡±


    Ellaenie turned. Haust was alongside her now, and her fingers were oddly warm as she reached out and clasped them.


    ¡°Now¡­see yourself.¡±


    There was a tugging feeling, a lurch. Ellaenie felt like she¡¯d just been yanked off her feet and into the silvery mist entire. Haust was a ghost shape ahead of her, barely a flicker of grey amidst silver and white, just another shred of mist in a fog bank, but nevertheless solid and present as she led Ellaenie onwards, to¡ª


    The fog parted¡­and Ellaenie saw herself. Far more clearly than any mirror, it was more like looking through a window to spy on another Ellaenie. The one in front of her was standing tall, her fists clenched, her face strained but her back straight. The wind was making her traveling cape flap and her hair blow back from her face, revealing a tightly controlled expression and wide, watchful, alert green eyes.


    Haust was holding Ellaenie¡¯s arm now. She gestured, and the scene seemed to slow slightly. ¡°What do you see?¡±


    The glib answer died unspoken. Instead, Ellaenie cleared her throat and took a good, hard look at herself, employing the Sight as she did so. Who was this girl in front of her? What would she read in such a woman, if she were to meet her?


    She wasn¡¯t looking at an innocent, she realized. Pretty face and wide green eyes though she had, what stared out from them was will, the courage and tenacity to stand up to a psychic assault and powerful dread. In that tight, pinched expression she read an unyielding force, one that needed far more than ghosts and mist to break.


    But one must always look deeper, with the Sight. And behind that steel and strength was¡­


    Was a scared girl. Fighting back precisely because she was terrorized and traumatized. It was there in the little details, the way her fingernails bit into her palms, the way her lip trembled and her throat worked as she swallowed. There was desperation there, a terror that if she fell apart then the whole world would go with her. Ellaenie saw somebody who¡¯d had all her hopes dashed, all her happiness torn away from her and was stumbling along mostly because she didn¡¯t know how not to.


    A castle, with foundations of broken gravel.


    ¡°¡­Is that really me?¡± she asked, aloud.


    ¡°We¡¯re looking back through time, to just moments ago,¡± Haust told her.


    ¡°I thought I was¡­I thought I was stronger than this.¡±


    ¡°You are strong. Look at yourself! You have the mind and will of the Faceless Witch, my mind, bent on unnerving and dismaying you. Not many could endure that.¡±


    ¡°I trust you. That¡¯s all. I knew there was a reason behind it.¡±


    ¡°There was.¡± Haust gestured, and the mists fell away with a feeling of pulling backwards, relaxing, unwinding. The fog rolled back and they were standing in the middle of the Court Unheld again, amidst clearing skies and weather. ¡°This is my way of telling you to rest. I see your mind, I know you¡¯re already planning and scheming to make your next move. And I¡¯m telling you that everything crumbles, dear Ellaenie. There is no wall that will not one day be cast down and moss grow over the stones. There is no heart that will never break. There is no such thing as an untiring, indomitable will.¡±


    Her fingers were cool again, now. ¡°Everything decays. Everything fades. It is only through effort and maintenance that things last and keep strong at all. Your walls have been under siege since the night you were orphaned, and they took a grievous blow again these last few days. Now you have the chance to repair them. It is not selfishness¡ª¡± she added, seeing Ellaenie¡¯s objection before it had even finished nucleating. ¡°It is what you need, and what is needed by all those you hope will come to depend on you. Maintain yourself. Mend yourself. Take care of yourself. Rest, recover, and grow glad again. Do not throw yourself into grim duty before you are ready, but find your gladness again, find something to fight for, beyond stubborn will.¡±


    She touched Ellaenie¡¯s cheek. Her voice was soft and intimate now, barely louder than a whisper. ¡°Do you understand? It is not enough to have a foe. If all your works are built toward the defeat of your enemy, then you can only destroy. You must create. Create something that does not belong to your enemy, something that is not your answer to him. Create something that you love. Or else you will only ever be trembling in defiance of your enemy, defined by him. And that is a victory to him, even after you cast him down. Do you understand?¡±


    Ellaenie trembled a small nod.


    ¡°Good.¡± Haust looked up and to her right: Rheannach was perched on one of the stones. As they looked at her, she swooped down and unfolded in flight to join them in the circle.


    ¡°Are you alright?¡± she asked.


    Ellaenie paused, considering her reply in light of what she¡¯d just gone through. ¡°I¡¯m¡­.yes. I¡¯m well enough.¡±


    Haust¡¯s quiet smile conveyed the comment ¡®good answer¡¯ that E?rrach would have voiced aloud. Instead, she asked: ¡°What would you like to do now?¡±


    ¡°¡­I¡­don¡¯t know. Saoirse suggested dancing with you, but¡­but I don¡¯t really feel like it.¡±


    ¡°Some other time, then.¡±


    ¡°I think¡­what would most set my heart at ease would be seeing Gilber and Adrey. If I could see for myself that they¡¯re okay, that would be¡­¡±


    Haust smiled, and beckoned her follow over to the ¡°entrance,¡± the gap between the four largest stones. As she approached, the air shimmered, dust flowed up or out from the stones to form an opaque matte black fence between two of the menhirs. There was a tingle on the air that made Ellaenie¡¯s hair want to break loose from its bun, but as they approached what had been black and featureless became alive with light and imagery¡­


    She was looking into a study, in what could only be Auldenheigh. Indeed, as the image became clearer, Ellaenie could see familiar landmarks through the tall windows. And there, curled on a couch by the fire and surrounded by papers, wearing an expression of studious seriousness that Ellaenie hadn¡¯t seen on her before, was Adrey Mossjoy¡­


    And she was not alone.


    <hr>


    <h2>Interlude: 17 Pickler¡¯s Lane</h2>


    Auldenheigh, Enerlend, Garanhir Earthmote


    Adrey hadn¡¯t considered herself an innocent for some years. In her head, her image of herself was sophisticated, experienced, maybe even a little jaded. The worldly big sister Ellie and especially Lisze needed.


    Now she was beginning to wonder if Ellie hadn¡¯t been quietly humoring her of late. Much of what she was reading was troubling, and enlightening in equal measure. And the company she was suddenly keeping¡­


    She glanced up again at the woman opposite her, unable to resist another glance at her curious, alien face. She¡¯d seen Yunei delegates before, but the woman now sipping tea in the armchair opposite her was far too tall and long-limbed to hold any rank among the Yunei. But her face was Yunei, delicate and high-cheeked and narrow in the jaw. Captivatingly beautiful.


    More striking still, though, were her eyes. Adrey would never have guessed that somebody could have eyes with the hue and lustre of burnished gold.


    The other woman had declined to introduce herself, beyond that she was a friend of Lord Drevin¡¯s. She was dressed as though in deep mourning, covered from toe to throat in dull black wool, with a hood and dark veil that would have served perfectly for keeping bystanders from noticing her exotic face.


    Adrey was going to need something similar, she realized. The common fancy was that Ellaenie was dead, killed by the same conspiracy as had assassinated her parents a few years ago. It would be only appropriate for her lady-in-waiting to wear mourning dress.


    ¡°I still can¡¯t quite believe it,¡± she admitted. ¡°I know Ellie was preoccupied with the Church of the One, but I thought it was a purely political matter of protecting the status quo from a group of malcontents. Now I find out there¡¯s ancient magic and terrible evil involved, and the Crowns and Heralds themselves, and¡­¡±


    ¡°And it¡¯s all a bit much,¡± the stranger agreed.


    ¡°A bit much? I just found out that my best friend¡¯s magical tutor is Rheannach herself!¡± Adrey blurted. ¡°How much more is going on that I don¡¯t know about?¡±


    ¡°Much. You¡ªand I mean this in a kind way¡ªyou are a privileged woman born to high society but not to leadership. You inherited wealth and comfort, but not responsibility. You have not been involved until now, partly as a kindness, partly because it was not clear you were suitable.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s funny, I¡¯ve always thought of myself as the responsible one¡­¡± Adrey sighed. ¡°And now here we are, with Ellie in exile, and Lisze is¡­is¡­¡±


    ¡°Dead.¡± The stranger¡¯s tone had an almost reptilian cold bluntness to it: Adrey flinched. ¡°She is dead. And something else, a foreign will, is walking around wearing her corpse for a disguise. She is dead, and her remains are defiled.¡±


    She paused, watching Adrey struggle with the agony of those words, then leaned forward and reintroduced some comforting warmth to her voice. ¡°But unlike the truly dead, there is still hope she may be brought back to life. She may yet be returned to her true self.¡±


    ¡°How?¡±


    ¡°It is not within your power,¡± the stranger said. ¡°I assume you can charge and light a magestone, like any child of this land. But you have no great talent for magic, do you?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Adrey admitted. ¡°That was always Ellie¡¯s thing. She tried to teach me once and I could manage some simple telekinesis, but it felt like I was trying to play the violin with two left hands.¡±


    ¡°Then saving your friend is not within your direct power. But you are not without talent and utility, I think. Gilber says you have a keen social mind, a good memory for all the powerful people in Auldenheigh and all across Garanhir.¡±


    ¡°And beyond,¡± Adrey agreed.


    ¡°In certain lines of work, that is a valuable skill indeed. It is not a direct route to rescuing your friend from her captor¡¯s influence, but with your support, insight and assistance, those who can will have the means to do so.¡±


    Adrey sighed, but nodded. ¡°So I¡¯m one of the corps, not a principal. That¡¯s¡­a relief, actually.¡±


    The stranger smiled. ¡°You were close to the duchess, and to one of the enemy¡¯s captives. Yours will not be a position without danger.¡±


    ¡°What dangers, exactly?¡±


    ¡°Most likely, the same fate as Lisze suffered. Scooped out of your own head and transformed into a puppet. Though unlike Lisze, you will have certain¡­protections.¡±


    ¡°How good are these protections?¡± Adrey asked.


    The other woman didn¡¯t do anything as crass as shrug, exactly, but the tiny movement of her head spoke volumes. ¡°Better than nothing.¡±


    ¡°I see.¡±


    They sat a long minute in a thoughtful silence punctuated by the crackle of the fireplace and the heavy tick of the long case clock in the corner.


    ¡°I¡¯m¡­.scared,¡± Adrey admitted, at last.


    ¡°Understandable.¡±


    ¡°But I¡¯m going to do it.¡±


    ¡°Commendable.¡±


    ¡°I have just one question, though.¡±


    ¡°Just one?¡±


    Adrey cleared her throat. ¡°¡­Who are you?¡±


    ¡°I am Dragon.¡±


    Adrey blinked, but was surprised to find that she wasn¡¯t actually that surprised. ¡°The Herald of the Court Unheld.¡±


    ¡°The very same.¡±


    ¡°¡­I have more questions.¡±


    Dragon laughed. ¡°I am sure you do,¡± she said as she rose to her feet. ¡°But I am not here to answer them. I am here to get a good look at you, and decide whether you have a place in our corps de ballet after all. And I believe you shall, if you desire it.¡±


    ¡°I do,¡± Adrey replied, firmly.


    ¡°Then remain here, continue to read, and wait. There will be instructions soon enough, I am sure. Above all else, have patience: what we face will not be defeated overnight. Use this time to prepare well.¡±


    ¡°I shall,¡± Adrey promised.


    ¡°Good.¡± Dragon dipped her head and torso forward and down, very slightly, in the shallowest bow Adrey had ever seen¡­but a bow nonetheless. A gesture of recognition. Then she was gone. Her heeled shoes tapped sharply on the hallway¡¯s tiles, the door clicked, creaked, closed, and Adrey was, physically speaking, alone.


    She didn¡¯t feel alone, though. Not any more.


    She took a deep breath, and returned to her reading.


    <hr>


    <blockquote>


    ¡°Here, then, is the truth we have chased: The self is a lie. It is a dream, an illusion, nothing more. If a man cannot live except by the efforts of his collective, and the same is true of every man, then how can an individual be said to exist at all? What are you?


    You cannot know by turning your thought inwards. But you will find the answer in your neighbor¡¯s face.¡±


    ¡ªNils Civorage, ¡°The Circle¡±


    </blockquote>


    <h2>A freezing bedroom</h2>


    The Glacier Keep, Unbroken Earthmote


    09.05.15.13.01


    Ellaenie half-woke in a room made of ice, rolled over, and drew the blankets and furs tighter around herself.


    She wasn¡¯t actually feeling cold. Indeed, the bed was if anything slightly too warm. But that was entirely because she was well-wrapped in bedding: the frigid air of the room was otherwise tightening the tip of her nose and making her breath steam. Bitter cold, literally bitter on the tongue, duelled with the sheer coziness of the bed; she buried her nose in the blankets and snuggled down again.


    It was her fourth day at the Glacier Keep. Lady Haust had been kind enough to bring her directly here, through a swirl of shroud and fog that had left her feething breathless and chilly, but Queen Talvi was yet to actually show up. But that didn¡¯t mean Ellaenie had been neglected. On the contrary, she was being quite well taken care of.


    By somebody she couldn¡¯t see.


    Queen Talvi had her heralds, of course. Padouak, who sang and danced on the ice playing flutes made of antler; Indrik, her lover and steed; Nichel, who would be down somewhere in the Keep¡¯s endless basements, working his forge; Kylmatul, who rarely took corporeal form and preferred to exist as the cold wind itself.


    And, according to Enerlish children¡¯s stories, the Hidden, who served as the Glacier Keep¡¯s butler and guard. Rheannach had corrected her on that, and explained that the Hidden was no Herald. It was a permanent enchantment on the keep itself, breathtaking in its subtlety, complexity and power, but fell far short of a full Herald. For a start, it was neither sentient nor aware.


    It was an excellent host, even so. She woke up again from her cozy doze at the sound of a soft clink of ceramic on wood: a steaming mug of cocoa had just been laid on her bedside table. As she watched, it rotated itself half a quarter-turn to present its handle, setting the soft powdery sugary pillow-things floating on its surface bobbing.


    ¡°¡­Mmn¡­.thank you,¡± she grumbled, and decided that this act of hospitality, sapient or not, meant it was time for her to get out of bed.


    Her clothes were warm, at least. Freshly laundered and pressed to perfection overnight, then left to warm on a charcoal heated rack in a corner of the room. Pulling them on was blissful after the freezing air of her room, and the cocoa was like a cozy hearth in her belly. There was a note tucked under the mug, in a neat but decorative script: ¡°Apologies for my absence. Please, come see me in the library when you wake.¡±


    There was only one person it could possibly be from, and who was Ellaenie to refuse her invitation? She drank the rest of her cocoa as briefly as she could without scalding her mouth, then trotted out of her guest bedroom and down the long halls.


    The Glacier Keep was as stunning as every story she¡¯d ever heard of it, if not more so. Her mother had read about it to her when she was little, and in Ellaenie¡¯s girlish imagination it had been mostly blue. That was certainly how the pictures had shown it in the book.


    The reality was far, far more than shades of blue. Blue, if anything, was the least of its hues. Ellaenie¡¯s boots crunched softly along floors of perfect white, their surface left scuffed and frosty for traction. Around her, the walls in this part of the keep were as deep and as green as a great lake, and by no means opaque. Her reflection shimmered, stretched, then fled away from her to plunged into thalassic depths, where each step changed the precise darkness and texture.


    And that was just the guest wing. The pillars and walls in the grand hall were as flawlessly clear as a cup of water, so that the whole vaulted edifice seemed built, not merely of crystal glass, but of prisms. It was a place of rainbows, thousands and thousands of shattered rainbows shifting and twisting and dazzling in the sunlight as they played over a black floor shot through with white cracks, like the distant sky on a stormy night. And the forms! Ice could be deadly spikes, or rounded nodules. It could be coarse, or smooth. It could form sharp six-fold geometries, or delicate fern traceries.


    But of all the details, Ellaenie found the Glacier Keep¡¯s lights the most enchanting. There was no single large light source in any room, but instead thousands and thousands of tiny ones, as though the most industrious mage in all the worlds had scooped up fine gravel from a riverbed and enchanted every last little stone to glow before embedding them along the edges of every wall, hanging them from every lintel and framing every alcove. Most were a warm golden white, but here too there was variety: some were a blue so intense and sharp it pierced the eye, some were a riot of green and red, some even faded slowly from one shade to another, through purples and greens and pinks unlike any she¡¯d seen in nature¡­


    And then there was the curtain hall. At least, that was what she called it. It was circular, domed, and would have been dark except that when one looked up, the space below the ceiling was hung with flowing, twisting draperies of pure colorful mist that never stopped moving. Ellaenie had spent an hour just watching, the night she discovered them.


    No, the Glacier Keep was not blue. It was every color under the sun and a hundred more besides.


    And, of course, it had its library.


    The shelves were floor-to-ceiling, naturally. But there, all conventionality ended: there wasn¡¯t a single straight line anywhere in the library. It was more like a book cave, a bibliophile¡¯s ice grotto. The shelving was all custom, fitted precisely to the curves of what seemed like natural walls. under a low, knurled ceiling. The lighting in here was mostly dim enough to feel like walking under threatening blizzard clouds, but the effect was intimate rather than intimidating. Reading nooks dotted here and there were lined with cushions, fur and clusters of those tiny magestones, creating islands of cozy light¡­.and it was in one of these that Ellaenie found Queen Talvi, reclined sideways as though on a chaise and reading a fine leather-bound volume.


    She bookmarked it as Ellaenie approached, closed and set it aside, then looked up to smile faintly. ¡°Good morning.¡±


    ¡°Good morning, your majesty,¡± Ellaenie dipped a curtsey. It felt appropriate with Talvi somehow, and she certainly didn¡¯t object but rather smiled faintly and gestured at something: the invisible butler force swooped a comfortable chair into position, which Ellaenie took as an invitiation to sit.


    ¡°I hope the hospitality of the Keep has been to your satisfaction?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s been¡­relaxing,¡± Ellaenie admitted. ¡°I don¡¯t remember the last time I just did nothing.¡±


    ¡°A minor conspiracy between myself and Autumn,¡± Talvi admitted. ¡°Knowing what advice she would give you, we decided that if I was an impolite host and kept you waiting, you would be able to idle without guilt. After all, If I had welcomed you right away, you would only have remained as long as politeness demanded, and you would have fretted the whole time about your neglected duties, would you not?¡±


    ¡°I¡­suppose I would have,¡± Ellaenie admitted.


    Talvi nodded, and accepted a small china teacup that bobbed toward her through the air as though carried by an unseen footman. ¡°This way, a minor bit of rudeness on my part means you were able to relax and simply enjoy your time here. I beg your pardon for it.¡±


    Ellaeni paused, then chuckled softly. ¡°You have a funny way of showing your affection, Your Majesty.¡±


    ¡°Indeed I do,¡± Talvi agreed, giving her a grandmotherly smile over her teacup. ¡°But I am glad you see it for what it was. Affection indeed. Especially if you plan to go ahead and marry Sayf.¡±


    ¡°I do. Assuming he¡¯ll have me.¡±


    ¡°He would surprise and dismay me greatly if he did not,¡± Talvi replied. ¡°We are all very fond of you, you realize.¡±


    Ellaenie¡¯s blush would not be denied. She looked down briefly and cleared her throat. ¡°I still don¡¯t know why?¡±


    ¡°Well, we are fond of everyone, of course. But you¡­¡± Talvi sipped her tea then set it aside, leaving it in mid-air. Her invisible butler swept in and took it away. ¡°Honestly, you remind me very much of myself, insofar as I can remember what it was like to be nineteen. But to the eyes of a Crown, a person is a community of possible people all waiting to happen. And the most likely versions of you loom large just behind your shoulder.¡±


    Her eyes¡ªpiercing crystal blue¡ªtwinkled with something approaching wonder as she looked not at Ellaenie, but about her. ¡°Yes. Very much like myself. And like the others¡­¡± she said, softly.


    ¡°Ma¡¯am?¡±


    Talvi refocused. ¡°Perhaps we are especially fond of you, not for who you are, but who you will be,¡± she explained. ¡°But perhaps that would be unfair on you. In the end it does not matter: you do not need to know why. You need only know that you, my dear, strike my mind like the tension before a storm. And you are not alone in doing so. Something wonderful is coming, and you are¡­involved. Somehow.¡±


    ¡°Somehow?¡± Ellaenie frowned, trying to decide if Talvi was withholding details, or simply didn¡¯t know them.


    To her astonishment, the latter seemed most likely. Talvi¡¯s excitement hinted at something novel and unexpected, something she hadn¡¯t foreseen or intended. For a Crown to feel such¡­


    ¡°Somehow,¡± Talvi¡¯s chosen face was calculated to be grandmotherly and venerable without frailty. She had a timeless, ageless quality that did not flirt with any pretensions at youth, but rather embraced all the beauties of maturity. ¡°The wonderful thing about humans, my dear, is that the story never grows stale. Each new actor plays a different part, or even if it is the same part they play it in their own unique way. Who you are, who you will choose to be¡­is a landscape, while my perspective is as of a watchtower on a high escarpment, with a commanding view of all the lands around. But even the most well-situated watchtower will have blind spots, the land will have valleys and woods in which the inventive and crafty might be hidden. I can see much of your potential, but not all of it. And what I cannot see is fascinating.¡±


    ¡°I¡­thank you?¡± Ellaenie ventured.


    ¡°Forgive me if that all seems cryptic. Enerlish does not have the necessary words. No tongue does. But, allow me a question of you¡­do you feel you have a choice? Are you setting yourself on your path because it is what you desire, or because you are compelled?¡±


    Ellaenie looked around at the books for a second. ¡°Compelled,¡± she admitted. ¡°For now, at least.¡±


    ¡°Compelled by whom?¡±


    ¡°By myself. I don¡¯t know that I could tolerate myself if I didn¡¯t fight back against what Civorage has done.¡±


    ¡°One could argue,¡± Talvi pointed out, ¡°that makes you compelled by his action.¡±


    ¡°¡­I¡­¡± Ellaenie grappled with that a second, then scowled at herself. ¡°Hmm.¡±


    ¡°Quite so.¡± Talvi nodded. ¡°Sometimes the line between ourself and our enemy can become very blurred, and what seems to come from inside us instead comes from them. Let me put my question another way¡­you could go to the Oasis and start forming your resistance there, right now. But you plan to do more than that: you plan to join the Harem. Why? Why, in this moment when you are looking to reclaim power, would you desire to submit to a husband?¡±


    ¡°Who said anything about submitting?¡±


    ¡°That is what it is to wed, young lady. And unlike a marriage, where your husband would in turn mutually submit to you, you are proposing to join a harem, to become just one spouse of many under a mighty husband-lord. It is an inherently one-sided relationship, with him receiving all your affection, but you receiving only a fragment of his. Is that not rather beneath your station and dignity?¡±


    ¡°If it were any other harem, yes,¡± Ellaenie replied.


    ¡°It is just any other harem, in all the important regards. The fact that my good friend is mightier, older and wiser than any mortal lord does not change that fact. Joining it will not grant you special access to the crownspouses and their resources, for you would already have that just for asking. So¡­why? What is it that draws you down this path? Why submit to being one of many, when by rights you are a queen who could and should stand alone in splendor?¡±


    ¡°Alone?¡± Ellaenie asked. The word twanged out of her with the force of an arrow, unconscious, unplanned, uncalculated, unaimed¡­and yet it hit the bullseye. Accidentally, it carried everything she needed to say, everything she feared, and everything she hoped fo.


    Talvi¡¯s bright eyes bored into her a moment longer, then wrinkled in a smile. ¡°Go on. Think aloud.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve been alone,¡± Ellaenie said. ¡°All my life! ¡®Daughter of the duke, destined to be duchess,¡¯ as Father put it. Do you know what that means? It means even my best friends were still my servants! Lisze and Adrey, my closest and dearest, and my Ladies-in-Waiting. My friends were below me in rank and privilege, while my peers in rank must always be rivals and colleagues. Saoirse and Rheannach and you four, you¡¯re mentors and guides to me, above me. Who does that leave?¡±


    She sighed and subsided on her seat. ¡°I¡¯ve never had¡­equals. And I want to. I want to know what it¡¯s like to have a companion who is neither above nor below me, but on my level. I want to know what it is to share my position. And in Sayf¡¯s harem, I see the chance at that. I don¡¯t care if I have to let go of a little station to have that. I¡¯ve already fallen a mile; does an extra inch really matter?¡±


    ¡°It might.¡± Talvi replied. ¡°But I am satisfied. It is good to see you acting on your own wants. Very good.¡±


    Ellaenie sighed, and felt something inside her, something that had been chafing slightly at this enforced four-day vacation, let go and relax. She dipped her head in a small nod, not quite sure what to say next.


    Talvi reached forward, and pressed Ellaenie¡¯s hand between her own. Though her hands were as cool and parchment-delicate as any old woman¡¯s, they still thrummed with power to Ellaenie¡¯s senses. ¡°Your virtues are your vices, my dear,¡± she said, softly. ¡°As is the way with good people. If I have any lesson for you, it is that your perspective must now shift. You can no longer be young, and see everything as needing immediate action. Cultivate the perspective of the old, cultivate patience. That is how you shall triumph, in the end.¡±


    ¡°Every day I delay¡ª¡±


    ¡°You are not delaying. When you leave this place, when you go to the Oasis, once you are settled there and able to begin, I think you will find these few days of rest will more than repay themselves. Already, you are calmer, more focused, more certain of yourself.¡± She patted Ellaenie¡¯s hand, then sat back. ¡°If you will stay two days more, I would like that. If you will not, I understand completely.¡±


    Ellaenie looked around. She had to admit, the library was such a wonderful place¡­and eager though she was to begin, part of her also deeply, desperately wanted to rest. Just for a little while.


    ¡°¡­I would like to stay two days more,¡± she agreed.


    Talvi smiled. And for the first time since Saoirse¡¯s death, Ellaenie felt safe again.


    <hr>


    <h2>Interlude: 17 Pickler¡¯s Lane</h2>


    Auldenheigh, Enerlend, Garanhir Earthmote


    09.05.15.13.01


    Adrey was beginning to feel the need for exercise. Days of having nothing more active to do than take turns around the room were beginning to leave her feeling restless, foggy, itchy. There was something hot behind her eyeballs now, whenever she even glanced at a book.


    Serjant Bothroyd clearly sensed it when he visited her. His visits were always brief, a quick check on how she was progressing with her reading, a polite conversation, then departing. This time, though, he departed rather sooner than usual. Adrey wondered what to make of it. She¡¯d rather hoped the serjant would help her with her predicament, but no such luck.


    Crowns, she wanted to get on a horse and ride somewhere. Or go dancing. Or just take a proper walk around town. But on that score, she knew better. She was learning much from her books and from the manuals Bothroyd and his associates had left for her, and she had faith in Dragon most of all. Having a Herald among their conspiracy was exciting in ways she could scarcely count. But that didn¡¯t change the fact that her body was screaming at her to move.


    She got her wish an hour after Bothroyd¡¯s abrupt departure. A new man, this one small and wiry and blessed with rather fewer than the usual number of teeth. He looked, spoke, dressed and smelled like the worst kind of criminal ruffian, in a flat cap that stank of soot and machine oil. He had a parcel under his arm, wrapped in brown paper and twine.


    There was certainly nothing wrong with his manners, though. He took his cap off as he entered and touched his forelock respectfully. ¡°Milady countess. Apologies for interruptin¡¯ ¡®yer studies, ma¡¯am. I¡¯ve come on Serjant Bothroyd¡¯s orders.¡±


    ¡°Oh!¡± Adrey set her book aside. ¡°Uh, thank you. But may I ask what for?¡±


    ¡°Serjant said you was gettin¡¯ restless, milady. Nor can I blame ¡®yer, cooped up in here. He thought it might be time you got an education in our darker arts, if you follow me.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t think I do, Mister¡­?¡±


    ¡°Oh, pardon Ma¡¯am. Skinner, ma¡¯am. Just Skinner.¡± He touched his forelock again.


    Apt, Adrey thought. ¡°Charmed. Uh¡­darker arts?¡±


    ¡°Killin¡¯ arts, ma¡¯am.¡± He flashed a gappy grin. ¡°Proper way ¡®ta knife a man, if needs must. I¡¯m to teach ¡®yer.¡±


    ¡°Good Crowns!¡±


    ¡°Indeed so, milady. Wi¡¯ their authority an¡¯ blessin¡¯ as passed down through them as is a long ways above the likes o¡¯ me.¡± Skinner had an ugly, twisted smile, but the twinkle in his eyes was strangely charming. ¡°Her ladyship Dragon among others. She¡¯ll not let you out o¡¯ these walls until you know the right way to slit a nice juicy throat.¡±


    ¡°Goodness,¡± Adrey managed, weakly. ¡°I just mean it¡¯s, well¡­I wasn¡¯t expecting to¡­or rather, I¡­Winter¡¯s gifts, man, cutting throats?¡±


    ¡°If needs must, milady,¡± Skinner replied evenly. ¡°Better you than them, I would say. An¡¯ ¡®tis good exercise, you¡¯ll find. Like to blow the cobwebs out good an¡¯ proper.¡±


    ¡°Well, I¡¯m hardly dressed appropriately¡­¡± Adrey pointed out. ¡°But, I suppose that is what your parcel there is for?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s right, milady.¡± He set it on the table for her. ¡°You¡¯ll find me in the cellars once you¡¯re dressed.¡±


    And with that he turned and headed down the stairs, whistling an off-key airshipman¡¯s shanty to himself. Adrey unwrapped the parcel and blinked at what she found. The clothes were decidedly working-class. Wool stockings, a short stay, a cap to control her hair, a shirt of unbleached and undyed linen¡­and breeches. She¡¯d never worn breeches in her life.


    Well¡­it was practical, she could see that much. Unladylike, but easy to move in even though it left her feeling uncomfortably half-naked.


    Needs must, she supposed. She took a deep breath, and trotted down the stairs to the cellars. These she had not yet explored, on the basis that in her limited experience the only things to be found in cellars of any house was storage. Now it turned out that Number Seventeen¡¯s cellar was no pantry or storeroom at all. Instead, there was a square of fine sand, about three times as wide as Adrey was tall, and a number of mannequins around the walls.


    Skinner had moved one of these to the center of the arena. He looked Adrey up and down in a disinterested way that said his choice of clothing for her was not some lecherous excuse to get her down to little more than underwear after all, and grunted with a nod. ¡°Good fit?¡±


    ¡°I feel very¡­exposed,¡± Adrey admitted.


    ¡°I can imagine, after wearin¡¯ fancy gowns all your life. Imagine you feel a bit below your station too, ma¡¯am.¡±


    ¡°Rather, yes.¡±


    ¡°For ¡®yer own safety an¡¯ secrecy, you may have to dress an¡¯ act the part of even lower forms of life even than me,¡± he grinned gummily again. ¡°Unlikely, though. I daresay the masters¡¯ plans for you involve keepin¡¯ you at your present station, among peers. But still. Bein¡¯ able to slip into the role of a servin¡¯ girl might just save your life one day. That¡¯s not for me to teach, though. Come: let¡¯s blow out them cobwebs.¡±


    ¡°Yes. Absolutely,¡± Adrey agreed. ¡°So¡­knife fighting. I never imagined I would learn it¡­¡±


    ¡°An¡¯ I never imagined I¡¯d ever teach it to a countess,¡± Skinner retorted. ¡°But here: look at this beauty.¡±


    He produced a dagger with a flourish that left Adrey so astonished she took a step back: she hadn¡¯t even noticed he was wearing it. ¡°This ¡®ere¡¯s the regimental issue fighting dagger,¡± he said. ¡°Pretty much every infantryman in Enerlend has one o¡¯ these. Good honest Auldenheigh steel, stamped out by the cutlery works down Riverside. It¡¯s simple, there¡¯s a million of ¡®em, an¡¯ they¡¯ve been tested long in battle by men who lived and died on their worth. Not much to look at, is it?¡± He flipped it over and offered it to her, handle first.


    Adrey had to admit, it was not. The blade was just a long, tapering triangle, thick down the middle and dull, in more than one sense. Rather than gleaming and polished, the steel was as grey and unreflective as a fireplace poker, except for the very edge which was startlingly silver. The handle was shaped as though somebody had stretched and flattened a barrel, and it had a small, stubby guard that seemed barely worth mentioning. Dull in the sense of flat, uninteresting and unreflective¡­but not blunt. No, its edge was very, very keen indeed.


    ¡°No¡­¡± she agreed .¡±But I suppose that would be the point, wouldn¡¯t it?¡±


    ¡°Quite so. This is no fashion statement, milady. This is your escape plan for if it¡¯s kill or die. She might not look like much, but this ol¡¯ bitch will strike a man dead between one breath an¡¯ the next if you stick ¡®im just right.¡±


    ¡°Goodness¡­¡± Adrey repeated, feeling a little queasy.


    ¡°You do unnerstand what you¡¯re signing up for, ma¡¯am? What we¡¯re fighting here?¡±


    ¡°I have lost a friend to them,¡± Adrey told him, recovering her conviction. ¡°She is a puppet, a slave. And, if some of Serjant Bothroyd¡¯s darker hints are true, she is defiled. I know quite well what our enemy is like, thank you.¡±


    ¡°An¡¯ what about torture?¡± he asked. ¡°Imagine long needles inserted under ¡®yer toenails, or clever tools that¡¯ll break each delicate bone in ¡®yer hand one by one. Imagine a man covering your face with wet cloth and pouring water on so you feel like you¡¯re drowning, over and over again for hours until you faint or break. You think you could endure that?¡±


    Adrey gulped. ¡°I¡­.don¡¯t know.¡±


    ¡°You couldn¡¯t. No-one can. That¡¯s the whole point o¡¯ torture, milady. There¡¯s not a soul alive who can weather it unbroken. This¡ª¡± he indicated the dagger ¡°¡ªis your escape. One way or t¡¯other. Best you learn it well so you can use it the one way, don¡¯t you think?¡±


    Adrey nodded, earnestly. Skinner watched her a second, then nodded.


    ¡°Outstanding,¡± he said.


    ¡°So¡­where do we begin?¡±


    ¡°With wooden ones, so neither of us gets carved up.¡± He took the dagger from her, sheathed it, and produced two dented and battered oak replicas. He handed one to her, then took the other and squared off. ¡°Now. First rule of knife fight is this: if it goes on longer¡¯n the first stroke, you¡¯re gonna be bleedin¡¯. This ain¡¯t gentlemen¡¯s fencing, this is two folks trying to kill each other with a sharp stick, so close they can smell the other man¡¯s dying breath. So when the time comes to kill, you kill. Do not hesitate, not for a heartbeat. Ideally, the other fella should not be squared off in front of ¡®yer like I am now. Ideally, he should be dead before he ever knows you have the knife. But¡­for now, brace yourself. I¡¯ll not go gentle, milady. This will bruise ¡®yer.¡±


    Adrey nodded, and raised the knife in front of her the same way he was holding it. She took a deep breath to say something like ¡®okay, let¡¯s begin¡¯ or ¡®I¡¯m ready.¡¯


    Something terribly violent happened to her. Before she¡¯d even finished inhaling, she was face down in the sand, her wooden dagger was clear across the room, and the tip of Skinner¡¯s weapon was against the side of her neck. ¡°Dead,¡± he declared, quietly.


    It was a salutory lesson, the first of many he inflicted on her that morning. By the time they were finished and Adrey¡¯s body was crying out to sit down and rest, please, she¡¯d been thrown around, slashed, stabbed, bludgeoned, and even slapped, an honest open-palm slap across the cheek that quite stunned her. Skinner offered no apology for it, and she demanded none: she took his meaning and lesson to heart from the very first. This was not gentlemanly fighting according to a set of sportsmanlike rules, and a real foe would not apologise for murdering her. Which meant Skinner ought not apologise to her for showing her the truth.


    Still. His verbal manners remained intact throughout. And once they were done, he offered some parting thoughts along with the cup of tea he brought her as she sat on a bench and recovered.


    ¡°I¡¯ve trained far worse, milady. You came along a good ways today. And you¡¯re far less shy than some damn good men I¡¯ve known. I¡¯ll make a gutter brawler of ¡®yer yet, I think.¡±


    Adrey found herself laughing at that thought. ¡°I sincerely hope,¡± she said, ¡°that I will never have to use any of what you are teaching me.¡±


    ¡°So do I, ma¡¯am.¡±


    ¡°Thank you, Skinner. This has been¡­eye-opening.¡±


    He nodded, touched his forelock, and made to leave. ¡°I¡¯ll see ¡®yer tomorrow, then.¡±


    ¡°Oh, dear. You¡¯re not giving me more than a day to recover? You¡¯ve bruised me from collar to ankle!¡±


    ¡°Missed a few spots, did I?¡± he flashed his few surviving teeth again. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, we¡¯ll get ¡®em. Tomorrow. Ninth hour.¡±


    ¡°¡­I¡¯ll be ready.¡±


    He nodded again, and was gone. Adrey drank her tea in silence, groaned herself to her feet, and stumbled back upstairs feeling quite ready for books and study again, thank you. The thought of going through all that again anytime soon was more than a little dismaying¡­


    But at the same time, she found herself feeling newly confident, somehow. Something about what she had just gone through had lit a small fire in her that she¡¯d never expected to feel. It was most curious, perhaps even a little alarming¡­


    And more than a little thrilling.


    She returned to her books, and studied with renewed zeal.


    <hr>


    <blockquote>


    ¡°Power can never be granted; it can only be seized. But once seized, will you shoulder its burden alone? Rare is the man who can carry such weight, and happier is the man who shares the load.¡±


    ¡ªNils Civorage, ¡°The Circle¡±


    </blockquote>


    <h2>Ready to begin</h2>


    The Oasis, Alhulw Earthmote


    09.05.15.13.04


    Warm air.


    Ellaenie paused and breathed deep of it. She¡¯d¡­strangely enjoyed the cold of the Glacier Keep. Maybe it was Talvi¡¯s blessing or some quirk of Winter¡¯s presence, but each breath had felt fresh, inspiring, exciting, even magical. Even the way Talvi¡¯s freezing air had bit at her nose and cheeks had felt refreshing rather than hard.


    Now, the moment she stepped from one earthmote to another was driven home in the way the temperature soared between strides. It was like stepping through a curtain into a heated room, or opening the door to a steaming hot bath. The crisp dry sharpness vanished, and Ellaenie was almost driven back a pace by humid, fragrant heat. The air smelled of spices, flowers and peacocks.


    They were on a balcony, high on the peak that dominated Alhulw Earthmote¡¯s trailing edge. The whole palace was visible from here, laid out in the shape of some strangely contorted dancer skipping between round pools. Up here, small paper tokens and narrow banners affixed to wooden archways fluttered in the breeze, and the beacon fire to guide in airships at night was ablaze in a haze of sweet-scented smoke.


    Behind her, Talvi inhaled deeply, then shook her head with a small smile suggestive of tolerant disapproval. ¡°I¡¯ll never understand his passion for heat,¡± she admitted.


    ¡°I do like the warm,¡± Ellaenie ventured.


    ¡°Ah, warmth is pleasant as a reprieve from the cold, but there are many ways to escape the cold. Good clothes, a fire, a fur shawl, a blanket, a hot drink¡­there are fewer ways to escape from ever-present heat, and none of them are lasting. And there are only so many layers one can remove, hmm?¡± Talvi smiled indulgently. ¡°Not that you are afraid to remove them all, when the occasion demands¡­¡±


    ¡°Well¡­true.¡± Ellaenie admitted, feeling a tinge of heat in her cheeks. ¡°But, uhm¡­¡±


    ¡°Oh, dear girl. We¡¯ll cure you of that blush yet, I¡¯m sure. You really have no need of it.¡± Talvi smiled again, then looked up. ¡°But, I see your host approaches. He won¡¯t mind if I say farewell and let you have him all to yourself, so¡­farewell. Your company these last few days has been a source of warmth.¡±


    Ellaenie, deeply touched, opened her mouth and found it quite impossible to say anything adequate. Talvi knew it though: she smiled again, took a step backwards, and just for a second the bite of a wintry breeze and a shower of snow crystals kissed Ellaenie¡¯s cheek, driving away the Oasis¡¯ humid heat.


    She was still touching her face when soft footsteps joined her at her side, accompanied by a waft of perfume and male scent, and the jingle of jewelery.


    ¡°She always did know how to make an exit,¡± Sayf commented, with a smile in his voice. ¡°How are you?¡±


    ¡°Better.¡± Ellaenie didn¡¯t look up at him, yet. Now that the moment was here to have some time alone with him, she was somehow feeling too shy. ¡°Rested.¡±


    ¡°Took the time to grieve properly, you mean.¡±


    ¡°¡­Yes.¡±


    ¡°Good. I was worried you would not.¡±


    Ellaenie looked up at him at last. ¡°I feel¡­a little ridiculous,¡± she confessed. ¡°Coming all this way with such a half-baked plan¡­¡±


    Sayf chuckled, and leaned against on the railing next to her. ¡°You are ridiculous. Everyone is. I certainly am.¡±


    ¡°You think so?¡±


    He shrugged. ¡°Look at me.¡±


    Ellaenie took the invitation as given, running her eyes up and down him and trying to see what he meant for her to see. Ridiculousness?


    Well¡­yes, probably. He was dressed in bright silks and a whole treasury of golden bangles, chains, rings and piercings. His eyes were lined in black and set on either side with tiny jewels glued to the skin, and he even wore lipstick, a subtle one with the hue and lustre of old copper. His hair was tied up and pinned by something elaborate and feathery. His chest was bare to the belly, which was a little large, and his face bore lines that, in a human, would have suggested too many nights partying and overindulging while not getting quite enough sleep.


    He was beautiful, in a flawed way. Much more beautiful than E?rrach, she thought. The King was far too much, far too perfect, while Sayf disarmed himself with imperfections that suited him, even if they were only affectations.


    ¡±Ridiculous¡¯ is¡­not the word I would have chosen for you,¡± she ventured. ¡°But it doesn¡¯t not fit.¡±


    ¡°It doesn¡¯t not fit you, either,¡± he replied. ¡°You really thought you¡¯d come here and just ask to marry me?¡±


    ¡°I¡­well, yes,¡± Ellaenie admitted.


    ¡°That is absurd, you realize.¡±


    ¡°But you don¡¯t disapprove.¡±


    ¡°On the contrary, I¡¯m delighted. But this is only our second conversation. Isn¡¯t your proposal a bit premature?¡±


    ¡°How many conversations did you have with Saoirse before she proposed to you?¡±


    ¡°Hah!¡± His teeth flashed brilliantly as he laughed. Each was decorated with a tiny jewel, she realized. ¡°None at all. She literally marched up to me and demanded it, then spent rather a long time explaining why I should¡­but you, my love, are not Saoirse Crow-Sight.¡±


    ¡°No. I¡¯m not. And I¡¯m not trying to be her, either.¡±


    ¡°So who are you trying to be?¡± He held out his hand, twisted it slightly, and produced a glass of some effervescent drink as though plucking it from behind the air, somehow. When he handed it to Ellaenie, she found it smelled faintly of cherry blossom. She paused, a little taken aback by both the question and the gesture, then sipped. It chased away a thirst she hadn¡¯t even noticed.


    ¡°I¡­you know, Talvi asked me something too,¡± she said. ¡°She asked me why I¡¯m doing this. Why I¡¯m¡­why not just come here and ask for help and be your guest?¡±


    ¡°You would be welcome. And I would help you,¡± he agreed. ¡°What did you tell her?¡±


    ¡°I told her I wanted peers. Wanted¡­somebody to be among. And that¡¯s true, but I¡¯ve had a couple of days to chew on it a bit more and I think, even more than that¡­because it sounds like fun,¡± Ellaenie admitted. ¡°Talvi spoke as though she considered it a little demeaning. Beneath me.¡±


    ¡°She would, yes. Talvi has always thought that a harem is more like a collection than a relationship. An indulgence on my part, an act of pure ego.¡±


    ¡°Is she wrong?¡±


    ¡°Not even a little bit. But the indulgence is in who I select for it. The very best, the most impressive, the most powerful and beautiful and wise¡­and always, always, it¡¯s their choice to join, and their choice when to leave. That¡¯s what I get out of it: the ego boost of knowing that the very finest people alive are with me by choice.¡±


    ¡°And in return?¡±


    ¡°Love. Children, if wanted. All the pleasures of intimacy. A family. And my solemn promise that, collection though my harem may be, it is the most treasured collection in all the world.¡±


    ¡°¡­I do like the sound of it,¡± Ellaenie admitted. ¡°It¡¯s¡­unduchess-like.¡±


    ¡°And you have a rebellious streak?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s more that¡­¡± Ellaenie finished her drink. When he took the glass off her, he dissolved it into butterflies and she watched them ambulate away on the breeze. ¡°Wow! Um¡­it¡¯s¡­part of me feels guilty about this¡­¡±


    ¡°Go ahead,¡± he encouraged, softly.


    ¡°I feel¡­liberated. It¡¯s like¡­I, I never minded my rank. I never resented being born to it. And I mean, goodness, how spoiled and stupid would I have to be? Who could possibly resent being born wealthy and powerful? But it came with an obligation, didn¡¯t it?¡±


    ¡°Power does, yes.¡±


    ¡°Right. Well¡­I wouldn¡¯t have chosen to lose it. But if there¡¯s any good thing to be taken from Civorage¡¯s victory, it¡¯s that now, I don¡¯t have that weight on my shoulders. For now, anyway. I mean to pick it up again as soon as I can, but¡­but right now, I¡¯m no longer a duchess. So I don¡¯t have to act like a duchess any more. I get to be just Ellaenie, for a time.¡±


    ¡°And who is Ellaenie?¡± Sayf asked her.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know, exactly¡­but whoever she is, she gets high on mushrooms and dances naked in the woods.¡±


    ¡°Heh!¡± he laughed and leaned closer. ¡°She sounds fun.¡±


    ¡°And she practices witchcraft even though the people of Enerlend despise it. She wants to do her duty, but she doesn¡¯t see why that has to mean being all joyless and buttoned up. She¡¯s lived two lives until now, and would like to figure out how to knit them together so that she can be one complete thing rather than two half-things. And she has a fondness for beautiful things, and she¡­she thinks you are very beautiful.¡±


    ¡°That I am.¡± He smirked at her, his dark eyes far too complicated for her to read. She didn¡¯t even try exerting the witch-sight; it would have been like staring into the sun. ¡°And so are you.¡±


    ¡°¡­And I remember a vision King E?rrach showed me. Or maybe the better word is temptation. I¡¯d¡­¡± she found she was leaning toward him, now. As though his mere presence was something she could fall into. ¡°I¡¯d like to give in to that temptation.¡±


    His hand was on hers. ¡°But not lose yourself in it.¡±


    ¡°No. Never. I think I want to indulge my temptations so that I can know exactly who I am.¡±


    ¡°Knowing yourself is a journey that will take the rest of your life.¡±


    ¡°Then I¡¯d better get started, hadn¡¯t I?¡±


    He laughed at that, then gazed at her for a long time, his eyes flicking across her face as he took in every detail. This close, she could feel the warmth of his body even over the heat of the sun and the beacon fire. Whatever he saw, his smile grew softer, and wider, with each second.


    She knew what it felt like to be deliberately seduced, by now. And Sayf was a master who must have done it¡­how many times before? A thousand? A million? A trillion?


    Did that make her a passing fancy? How could something like her be anything else, to something like him? But to be a god¡¯s passing fancy hardly seemed insulting. She was not beneath notice: he wanted her.


    And she wanted to be wanted. So she let it work. This was, after all, what she¡¯d come here for. But there was enough pride in her to make him chase her a little, first.


    ¡°Prince Sayf, I haven¡¯t even seen the place, yet,¡± She told him with mock stiffness. ¡°Are you really going to turn on the charm that much without the courtesy of a tour?¡±


    He straightened up and roared with laughter, right from the belly. ¡°Oh! Oh, you¡¯re good!¡± he declared.


    ¡°So I¡¯m told,¡± she replied, pleased with his reaction.


    ¡°Very well. If it¡¯s a tour you want¡­¡±


    There was a slight lurch. Ellaenie wavered on her feet, and realized they were no longer atop the beacon mount, but indoors, in a sizeable round hall with a polished marble floor, beautifully simple stone archwork, and a high ceiling painted exquisitely with a scene of the First Day.


    And a statue. A breathtaking, perfect statue.


    Sayf certainly seemed fond of it. ¡°I always like to begin the tour here, with this. The pride of my collection.¡±


    It was occurring to Ellaenie that she wasn¡¯t actually all that familiar with the male body. The only man she had actually seen in the nude was E?rrach, and he hardly counted. He was far too¡­extreme to set any standards by. But the tall statue in the middle of the hall seemed to be not only a study of the male form but a loving tribute by one who found it fascinating. And she had to admit¡­it was breathtaking.


    ¡°Where did you get it?¡± she asked


    ¡°A long time ago. It¡¯s needed some conservation work over the years of course, but properly done conservation faithfully preserves the original.¡± He smiled sideways and down at her. ¡°This is as faithful and exact as I could make it. And of course I have woven protections around him, to keep him from harm.¡±


    Ellaenie¡¯s nod was a little absent; she was still taking in all the details. Goodness, the artist had even captured the delicate thin skin of the back of the hand, and the bones and veins underneath. ¡°You have¡­many things like this?¡±


    ¡°None other like this. But my collection is full of many, many treasures. If you¡¯ll take my advice, you¡¯ll give each one just as much time as you¡¯re giving David here. Don¡¯t rush. Every last piece in this palace deserves your full attention.¡±


    ¡°Ah. So does the tour stop here?¡±


    He chukled. ¡°Not at all. But¡­ah. Here comes another treasure.¡±


    Ellaenie turned. A woman was approaching. A tall woman, taller even than Sayf himself, meaning she towered over Ellaenie by a couple of heads. The flare of her dark hair seemed to add even more altitude, her skin was such a rich dark brown as to be almost black, and her equally dark eyes were full of predatory mischief and sultry interest. Ellaenie had never been looked at in such a way, at least not so openly, nor by a woman.


    The newcomer¡¯s lips curled slightly, accepting Sayf¡¯s compliment as her well-deserved due as she strode toward them in a gown that seemed calculated to display and accentuate, though in truth she needed no accentuating. Her skirts flowed and swayed with her step, which had the sinuous, fluid grace of a cat.


    She wrapped herself around Sayf¡¯s arm. ¡°Your manners are still lacking, husband,¡± she chided him, softly. ¡°Surely you should introduce the living before you introduce the statuary?¡±


    Sayf chuckled. ¡°The statuary isn¡¯t in the habit of walking up and demanding to be introduced,¡± he retorted, kissed her, then stepped aside to make introductions. ¡°Beloved crownspouse Palasarli of Arthenun Il?yeda, this is Her Grace Ellaenie the Duchess of Enerlend, Maiden of the coven of Thaighn Saoirse Crow-Sight.¡±


    Ellaenie risked ungluing her tongue from the roof of her mouth¡ªit had been the only thing keeping her jaw closed¡ªand recovered her wits and courtly manners enough to curtsey. ¡°Your highness.¡±


    Palasarli curtseyed in kind, and took Ellaenie¡¯s hand to kiss it. ¡°Your grace. Welcome to the Oasis. And please¡­between us, I am Pal.¡±


    The pivot from sultry to sweetly warm was instant and effortless, so much so that Ellaenie felt it lighten her heart. ¡°Thank you.¡±


    ¡°You mean to join us?¡±


    ¡°I do, yes,¡± Ellaenie nodded. ¡°But¡­I do have a question for you first, if I may?¡±


    ¡°Of course!¡±


    ¡°Why did you want to?¡±


    Pal arched an eyebrow. ¡°Why would I settle for less than the very best I can get?¡±


    ¡°And¡­you don¡¯t mind sharing?¡±


    Pal smiled. ¡°Am I sharing? Or have I joined a community of the very best, a rare and exclusive club? It may not be a traditional marriage, but I am not a traditional woman¡­nor are you, I think. I am content. I think you shall be too.¡±


    Ellaenie considered that. ¡°¡­Thank you.¡±


    To her surprise, Pal leaned in, kissed her on the cheek, then let go of Sayf and turned to walk away. ¡°We¡¯ll become better acquainted later,¡± she promised. ¡°For now¡­he¡¯s all yours.¡±


    They watched her go. Ellaenie only exhaled once she was out of sight, and realized that Sayf was watching her watch Palasarli.


    ¡°Striking, isn¡¯t she?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°You are no less so.¡±


    ¡°I¡­I have trouble believing that.¡±


    He simply smiled, and offered her his arm. ¡°Come. I promised you a tour¡­¡± he said.


    She was glad to accept.


    <hr>


    <h2>Interlude: a fighting pit in a cellar</h2>


    17 Pickler¡¯s Lane, Auldenheigh, Enerlend, Garanhir 09.05.15.13.04


    For today¡¯s exercise, Adrey was wearing proper clothes and¡­standing still. Apparently.


    So. There she stood. Cute ankle boots, wool stockings, long skirts, corset and gown, even her long coat. And, tucked away in her pocket, strapped against her leg, was her dagger.


    Skinner gave her a serious look up and down and nodded. ¡°Good. Can¡¯t see it at all. Meself, I¡¯d rather make a few little changes to ¡®yer dress so you can keep more¡¯n one, but that¡¯s ¡®fer later.¡±


    ¡°Well I¡¯m glad it¡¯s invisible,¡± Adrey stated. ¡°Now what?¡±


    ¡°Now, we¡¯re going to practice drawing it. Go on! Quick as you can!¡±


    Adrey blinked, then thrust her hand into her pocket, searched around, found the handle, yanked on it. The knife¡¯s crossguard snagged in the ribbons holding her pocket around her waist and by the time she¡¯d detangled it and drawn her weapon¡­


    Skinner shook his head.


    ¡°Dead,¡± Adrey said, before he could.


    ¡°Yup. But ye¡¯ve naught to feel bad over. This were not a failure: t¡¯were a demonstration.¡±


    ¡°¡­Wasn¡¯t it?¡± Adrey sheathed the blade then set about re-hanging and re-tying it, angling it just a little forward so she¡¯d be able to draw it up through the pocket ties without the crossguard getting tangled.


    Skinner nodded as he poured himself a cup of water. ¡°Remember, you¡¯re not setting ¡®yerself up to use this in a fight where you need to draw it in an eyeblink,¡± he said. ¡°¡¯Cuz here¡¯s the hard truth, countess. ¡®Yer a soft-living noblewoman, ¡®yer exercise is horse riding and turns about the garden. A hard fightin¡¯ man has twice ¡®yer strength, speed and reach. You will never win a stand-up fight, no matter how I train you or how well you learn. What you are learning is how to strike him dead in cold blood with a single blow he never sees coming. You don¡¯t have to draw it fast, you just have to draw it quiet and unseen.¡±


    ¡°I still can¡¯t imagine myself doing that, if it should ever come to it,¡± Adrey admitted.


    ¡°Nor could I have, when I first did it. But t¡¯were that, or die.¡± Skinner shrugged. ¡°At least you¡¯ll have the benefit o¡¯ training.¡±


    Adrey paused. ¡°¡­May I ask¡­?¡±


    ¡°¡¯Ow many?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°Seven.¡±


    Adrey considered him, taking note of the scratchy, faded tattoos that covered his knuckles and throat, and were just visible under his thinning hair. ¡°That¡¯s¡­¡±


    Skinner¡¯s gap-toothed, gummy grin put in another appearance. ¡°Less than this ugly mug would suggest?¡±


    ¡°I was going to say it¡¯s a lot.¡±


    ¡°One is a lot. It¡¯s a man¡¯s life you¡¯re ending, after all. If it were easy, the Darkdrake wouldn¡¯t be askin¡¯ me to train you in it.¡±


    ¡°What makes you think I can?¡±


    ¡°Me? I don¡¯t think you can. I don¡¯t think you can¡¯t. I ¡®ave no opinion, countess. I¡¯m just paid ¡®ter do a job.¡± He drained his water. ¡°The question o¡¯ whether you can or can¡¯t, that¡¯s all up to you. Do you think you can? If so, we¡¯ll keep goin¡¯. If not¡­door¡¯s right there.¡±


    Adrey blinked at him, quite astonished by this completely indifferent non-reply.


    Her thoughts turned upstairs, to what she¡¯d been reading this past week. To all the things she¡¯d learned, about just how fragile a thread the prosperity of Enerlend and its people hung by. And they turned to Lisze, and what had been done to her.


    Never. She would sooner draw the dagger and plunge it into her own heart than become a puppet like poor Lizzy.


    She paced the fighting square in thought for a moment, and then¡ª*pocket, grip, draw, turn, lunge¡ª*she was face-down in the sand again, but Skinner rubbed a sore spot on his arm where her blunt practice blade had only just been turned aside.


    ¡°Winter¡¯s tits! Not bad!¡±


    ¡°Didn¡¯t quite get you,¡± Adrey pointed out, as she picked herself up.


    ¡°No. You showed sign. But that¡¯s something we can work on.¡± He flashed his few teeth at her again. ¡°The bit I can¡¯t teach is whether or not you¡¯re a killer at heart, and it turns out you might be. I¡¯m impressed.¡±


    ¡°I¡­¡±Adrey paused. ¡°¡­Thank you?¡±


    He simply nodded. ¡°Now. Lemme show you what gave you away¡­¡± he said.


    Adrey watched, and listened.


    And she continued to learn.


    <hr>


    <blockquote>


    ¡°Lay down your mugs and pack your bags, We¡¯re leaving on the wind. Go and kiss your girls and hug your lads, We¡¯re leaving on the wind. Away across the shattered sky, Away, away our ship shall fly, So drink your whiskey dry, comrades, Cuz we¡¯re leavin¡¯ on the wind.¡± ¡ªEnerlish airshipman¡¯s shanty.


    </blockquote>


    <h2>New Scene</h2>


    The Oasis, Alhulw Earthmote 09.05.15.13.11


    Ellaenie woke to the sound of slow, deep breathing, the firmness of a living chest under her ear, and the weight of warm arms around her.


    ¡°Mm?¡±


    A thick, dark thumb brushed a curl away from her face as she raised her head. ¡°You dozed off.¡±


    ¡°Sorry¡­.mm.¡± Ellaenie sat up. They were in the Oasis¡¯ library, which had already become her favorite place in all the Nested Worlds. It was just¡­perfectly right for her. Ellaenie knew herself well enough to guess that the shortest road to her heart passed through a good library, and Sayf¡¯s was a tribute to the beauty of books¡­and more specifically, to the wonder of stories.


    In this domed room with its glass ceiling was recorded the legends and tales of every culture of the worlds going back to the First People. It was a nightly event that the stage in the library¡¯s precise middle would host some ancient parable of a forgotten, long-extinct folk, recited by one of the Oasis¡¯ disciples. They would stand under the dome and chant an epic in accompaniment to soft harp music, proclaim prose in a stentorian voice, or act out a saga with much humor and liveliness, as the tale and tradition demanded.


    But it was also designed to celebrate the quiet beauty of being wrapped up cozily in a corner, lost in warmth and words. Out in the room¡¯s corners, the noise from the performance was part of the background, just another layer in the peaceful texture.


    There was even a fireplace because, in Sayf¡¯s own words, no library was complete without one. The flames never seemed to burn the fuel away, and Ellaenie fancied that a book cast onto it would emerge unscathed. She hadn¡¯t asked, and wasn¡¯t about to experiment to find out: she was just glad for the feel of heat on her skin. A reading session would have been incomplete without it, somehow.


    ¡°What time is it?¡± she askked.


    ¡°Fifteenth hour. You only dozed off for a few minutes.¡±


    Ellaenie nodded and stretched, rubbed her eyes awake, then sat and looked at him for a second. Sayf. Summer. Cankuu.


    In her heart, if she was honest, she¡¯d had doubts when she came here. Talvi¡¯s question and Haust¡¯s lesson had still been churning over in her heart, making it uncertain. And they were worthy doubts to have. This was, after all, a marriage she was proposing to enter into, a commitment and a chapter in her history that could never be unwritten. It deserved serious thought.


    But here he was.


    She¡¯d noticed that he altered himself, subtly, to suit each person he interacted with. To most, and to Ellaenie at first, he held to his ¡°neutral¡± form, the jeweled and silk-clad prince with an ageless male beauty and a few calculated imperfections. And all of that still applied, of course. He wasn¡¯t so dishonest or so guileless as to be completely chameleonic¡­


    But still, there was something subtly different, subtly more right for her about him now, after these five days of courtship. He wore his hair more neatly, the cut of his clothing did slightly more to flatter his silhouette and make him seem slimmer and taller.


    ¡°Would you like me to continue?¡± he asked, and indicated the book he¡¯d set aside. It was a collection of stories told by the human slaves of Vathcanarthen, a glimpse into beliefs and lives thousands of years old. Fascinating, but¡­


    ¡°You just want to put me to sleep again,¡± Ellaenie accused, tapping him lightly in the middle of his chest.


    A roguish smile crept up his right cheek. ¡°Perhaps. It¡¯s a lovely sight.¡±


    ¡°¡­Do you sleep?¡±


    ¡°When I want to. Usually I don¡¯t.¡± He looked across the library toward the night¡¯s performance. ¡°There¡¯s always something going on. Life is¡­so very infinite. So very fractal. In the right mindset, you¡¯ll find it¡¯s impossible to be bored. I hate to miss any of it.¡±


    ¡°But you were happy to let me doze on you.¡±


    ¡°What can I say?¡± he looked back toward her. ¡°I can admire a work of art for hours.¡±


    Ellaenie¡¯s breath caught. It was¡­so corny a line, so smooth and experienced. But not even a tiny bit disingenuous. And it made her aware that she was sitting in his lap, his hand resting on her hip, hers on his chest¡­


    His hand came up, touched her chin, and the desire to kiss him was so strong that she couldn¡¯t have denied it even if she¡¯d wanted to. His short, neat beard tickled at her nose and lips, his arms slid around her waist and drew her close.


    She¡¯d felt loved many times, now, by many people in many different ways. Parental warmth from her own parents and from Rheannach, big-sister clucking from Adrey, little-sister teasing from Lisze, hot lust from E?rrach turned lately to fatherly affection, grandmotherly guidance from Saoirse, avuncular care from Gilber, distant queenly concern and the intense scrutiny of a teacher from Talvi, the brief blush of hoped-for romance from Betrem¡­


    And now¡­a romance realized. The heady feeling of knowing that she held a man¡¯s fascination, made doubly powerful by the particular of who and what the man in question was. And, going the other way, her own fascination with him.


    How could she not be? He was an embodiment of the side of maleness that spoke more to her. The¡­tamer side, if that was the right word. The difference was subtle, but where E?rrach felt like a tremendously powerful and terrifyingly dangerous force constantly kept in check by will and effort, Sayf felt the other way around; like whatever terrifying potential was within him had to be summoned up and exerted, rather than let off its leash. He was gentler. Kinder. Funnier. Softer. His inner demon was no raging predator prowling behind bars, nor a sniveling deviant kept in line by fear. His was a lazy lump that would happily sit idle if not goaded¡­


    And of course, he had long since mastered it. She rather liked that.


    She paused, her nose still touching his, her eyes still closed as she listened to everything running through her mind, her body and her heart. She realized she was smiling. ¡°¡­Oh, wow.¡±


    ¡°Mhm,¡± he agreed, softly.


    ¡°Even for you? With all your experience?¡±


    ¡°I have no experience of you, Ellaenie.¡± He kissed her again, swifter and sweeter this time. ¡°You¡¯re unique. In all of time, in all of this world and the last, I¡¯ve never known you before.¡±


    There was no word for the feeling his words lit inside her. She opened her eyes and looked into his and saw a kind of wonder and delight in his gaze that she couldn¡¯t name. ¡°¡­That¡¯s¡­¡±


    He nodded: he knew and understood. ¡°¡­Marry me.¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡± She had no doubts, no questions, no hesitation.


    And the joy on his face was worth every step of the journey to come here.

 Chapter 11: The Plan

    <blockquote>


    ¡°Look at the wall, and ask yourself if you could have built it alone. Consider the cut stones, the mortar, the plaster and the paint. Do you know the secrets of making these? If you know any, you know only one or two at most. Now apply the same thought to your clothes, your carriage, your windows and floors and food. If it would consume all your effort to make one component yourself, how can any man claim self-sufficiency? He cannot: it is a lie. But now we have found this lie, how far must we chase it before we reach its end? And what truth will we find, once our quarry is brought down?¡±


    ¡ªNils Civorage, The Circle


    </blockquote>


    <h2>Ellaenie¡¯s Study</h2>


    The Oasis, Alhulw Earthmote 09.06.03.09.13


    ¡°That is¡­quite a story.¡±


    ¡°No less so than yours.¡±


    Jerl had to concede that point. He¡¯d stood up to walk around the room as Ellaenie told him how the Oneists had seized Enerlend, and how she¡¯d come to be here afterwards. But still, he hadn¡¯t yet got around to telling her his recent history. ¡°Did¡­Queen Talvi tell you, or¡ª?¡±


    The duchess nodded yes. ¡°Well¡­more accurately she reported things had gone as foreseen. They¡¯re all involved. Her, my husband, E?rrach, Haust¡­¡±


    ¡°And you?¡±


    She nodded. ¡°Releasing Time to your care was their plan and they implemented it, but you know enough by now about the way they think to guess the rest. They want us¡ªmortals, that is¡ªto solve the problem ourselves. Nils Civorage is a human, so he needs to be dealt with by humans.¡±


    ¡°So that we¡¯re agents of our own, not just pieces on a game board,¡± Mouse agreed, nodding.


    ¡°We¡¯ll never be just pawns to them,¡± Ellaenie replied. ¡°It¡¯s not that way around. They want us to get ourselves out of this mess because it¡¯s a step along the road of becoming like them. It was¡­the thing I realized when Sayf asked me to marry him and I said yes, I saw it in him without needing the Sight. They need us.¡±


    She rose to her feet as well and took a turn around the room, waving a hand generally at the palace and, somewhere in its depths, her husband.


    ¡°The Four¡­they¡¯re terribly, terribly lonely. They cope with it in their different ways: Sayf has the love of us, his spouses. E?rrach has Rheannach and the wolves at his side, Haust pretends at a series of ordinary lives, Talvi lives in ascetic solitude and cherishes her rare guests¡­but they¡¯re all aching for a real companion. For somebody to ascend from among humankind and become their fifth.¡±


    Jerl nodded slowly as he considered that. ¡°And they¡¯re so ancient, they can be patient about it¡­¡±


    ¡°Yes. They expected it to take, I don¡¯t know, millions of years. I think they expected this world they made to grow into something even larger and stranger before anyone even set foot properly on the path. But from what I read into what they¡¯ve told me¡­it¡¯s happening far sooner than they expected. And they don¡¯t know whether to be excited or terrified.¡±


    ¡°Why terrified?¡± Jerl asked.


    ¡°Because the process is delicate. They speak of the World Before as though the number of people who lived in it was beyond counting, and yet only the four of them remain out of so many. I think they¡¯re afraid that if they involve themselves too closely in this¡ª¡±


    ¡°Then it¡¯ll burst like a shredded bag,¡± Mouse finished.


    ¡°I was going to say pop like a soap bubble, but yes. Whatever it is, exactly.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s another reason to be terrified too. What if the fifth is Civorage?¡±


    ¡°They wouldn¡¯t allow that,¡± Jerl predicted.


    ¡°Exactly. They¡¯d be forced to destroy the very thing they¡¯ve been working toward all this time.¡±


    ¡°And who knows what the consequences of that might be?¡± Ellaenie asked. ¡°So¡­that¡¯s where we are. The Crowns are giving us as much help as they dare, more than they really want to, even.¡±


    ¡°Will they show us where the Words are?¡± Jerl asked.


    ¡°No.¡±


    ¡°Right. I suppose the act of tracking them down is all part of the process¡­¡±


    It was Ellaenie¡¯s turn to stand up. She crossed around the study to her tea set, and turned up the heat under the kettle. ¡°Perhaps. Or perhaps the Words choose their speakers. You hold Time because Time wants you to, don¡¯t you?¡±


    Jerl, not yet ready to grapple with that terrifying prospect, said nothing.


    ¡°What about Mind?¡± Mouse asked. ¡°If you¡¯re right, it chose both me and Civorage.¡±


    ¡°Maybe. Or perhaps the Words don¡¯t always get their way. There doesn¡¯t have to be one clean explanation for everything.¡± Ellaenie spooned some leaves into the teapot. ¡°Every influence has its say.¡±


    ¡°¡­You¡¯re saying I might have spoken Mind against its will?¡± Mouse fretted.


    ¡°Or Civorage might have.¡±


    Silence fell as they all thought, and Ellaenie brewed. Jerl paced, running a finger through his beard¡ªcome to think of it, somebody around here would definitely be able to give him a shave and badly-needed haircut¡ªbut his thoughts were on somewhere dark and cold, and the piece of the puzzle that was still refusing to fit into place for him.


    Ellaenie handed him a teacup. ¡°Steel for your thoughts?¡±


    ¡°¡­I was just wondering where the Shades fit in all this.¡±


    She gave him a puzzled look. ¡°What about them?¡±


    ¡°Civorage controls them, somehow. I¡¯ve seen him do it. Just before Queen Talvi rescued me, he walked unlit through the darkest Eclipse, and the damn things bowed and stepped aside for him.¡±


    ¡°¡­That¡­¡± she put a hand to her mouth. ¡°¡­Wow.¡±


    ¡°Yeah. I don¡¯t like the implications one bit.¡±


    Ellaenie turned to Mouse. ¡°Could you do that?¡±


    Mouse shrugged, wide-eyed. ¡°I don¡¯t know, and I don¡¯t want to find out,¡± he said.


    ¡°Fair, but¡ª¡± Jerl trailed off as there was a tiny knock at the door, which creaked open and an equally tiny head covered in curly brown hair poked through. It was followed by a tiny body, clutching a large piece of paper covered in colorful looping lines. A little girl, perhaps about five years old insofar as Jerl was any good at judging, and as dark of skin and hair as Sayf himself¡­but with a pair of astonishing green eyes to match Ellaenie¡¯s.


    ¡°Mummy?¡±


    Ellaenie¡¯s troubled frown vanished in an instant. She set her teacup down and swept across the room to take the child by her hand. ¡°Hey, Pickle! Is it twelfth hour already?¡±


    ¡°Y¡¯s¡­¡± the girl gave Jerl a wary look; Mouse escaped her notice.


    ¡°Hello,¡± Jerl said cautiously, not quite believing what he was seeing. ¡°I don¡¯t think your mummy told me about you yet¡­¡±


    ¡°She was going to come next,¡± Ellaenie smiled, and scooped her daughter up into a hug-carry. ¡°Captain Jerl Holten, may I present the princess Saoirse Emilie Sayfschild of House Banmor.¡±


    Jerl put on his best formal manners and bowed with a flourish. ¡°Your highness!¡±


    The princess blinked warily at him, then managed a cautious, ¡°¡¯Ello¡­¡±


    ¡°She gets me all to herself for the next three hours,¡± Ellaenie told him. ¡°Don¡¯t you, Pickle?¡±


    Saoirse waved her piece of paper. ¡°I drew Uncy Lokar an¡¯ Anty Pal!¡± she declared. Actually, the paper was covered in asymmetrical tadpole people in at least three shades of watercolor paint, augmented with glitter and feathers. Jerl could sort of tell which one was meant to be Pal, though, and the other one had blue zigzags that might be an immature hand¡¯s attempt at a Stormclansman¡¯s tattoos.


    Jerl frowned at Ellaenie, who was too wrapped up in cooing over her daughter¡¯s painting to notice. Could she¡­could she not see what she was holding? No, probably not. She didn¡¯t have Time. But to Jerl¡¯s sight, little Saoirse was a sort of a¡­a walking knot, or tangle. Potential shifted around her as she moved, like a cat under a sheet. Her very presence twisted probability, fate and future to the point where Jerl could almost see them as shimmering threads in the air.


    Questions for later. He gathered himself, and affected a small indulgent chuckle. ¡°I can see you have a prior engagement,¡± he said to Ellaenie. ¡°And we should probably check on my crew.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll see you at dinner,¡± she agreed distractedly. ¡°And after that, we need to plan.¡±


    ¡°See you there,¡± Jerl agreed, and politely fled. Little Saoirse¡¯s presence was starting to give him a headache.


    Mouse followed him, and tugged at his sleeve once they were a ways down the corridor. ¡°Jerl?¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s¡­the child is¡­¡± Jerl paused and gathered his thoughts. ¡°Not even the Crowns are that intense to be around.¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s¡­it¡¯s hard to explain, and I don¡¯t know what it means. But that little girl is¡­Time does strange things around her.¡±


    ¡°Well¡­¡± Mouse glanced back towards Ellaenie¡¯s chambers. ¡°She is a Crownchild.¡±


    ¡°No, it¡¯s more than that. Lander doesn¡¯t twist fate around himself the same way. There¡¯s something different going on with little Saoirse¡­¡± Jerl shook his head to clear it, glad the feeling of pressure was subsiding, and realized he was actually a little lost. ¡°Uh¡­which way?¡±


    Mouse chuckled, and pushed on a patch of wall, which turned out to be a disguised door as it swung open on silent hinges. ¡°Here.¡±


    Jerl followed as Mouse led them with remarkable surety through a portrait gallery lined with the likenesses of Sayf¡¯s past spouses and children, into a hall of flowing water and crystal glass, then out into a courtyard where an astonishing number of cats variously blinked lazily at them, snubbed them, or tried their purring best to trip them up.


    He could see fruit trees over the outside wall, and hear music, clapping hands and whoops of approval. As they ducked through the small wall gate, they entered an olive grove where the crew was entertaining, and being entertained by, Prince Sayf under the cool shade and the ripe green fruits.


    Sin was playing, of course. It was quite an elfish party out there, though Jerl had learned over the past few weeks that Penitents were a dour lot overall. Indeed, Sin was downright bubbly and joyous by R¨¹wyrdan standards. They were letting their hair down for now, though. Something about Sayf¡¯s presence invited joy, not least because he and Lady Pal were leading the dancing. So between Sin¡¯s guitar, a flute, a fiddle and a hand drum, there was actually quite a merry jig going on amidst the trees. The Lotharsson twins were boasting and showing off for a couple of ladies, Andony Marren had his feet up and was smoking his pipe as he bobbed along to the music, Gebby was clearly several cups deep into something potent¡­


    Derghan noticed Jerl and Mouse approaching first, and gave them an up-nod. He was sitting nodding along to the music and drinking with Amir, though his eyes of course had been on Sinikka. ¡°So. His Crownship says you were meeting one of his wives.¡±


    ¡°Mhm.¡± Jerl sat down. ¡°Duchess Ellaenie, as it happens.¡±


    ¡°No shit?¡±


    ¡°So this is where she vanished to¡­¡± Amir mused.


    ¡°Seems so. Also seems all that stuff about her being a witch is completely true, too. Except, bein¡¯ a witch is actually a sacred service to the Crowns.¡± Jerl shrugged.


    ¡°Oh, I could have told you that,¡± Amir nodded. ¡°Witches passed through the Thundering Hall now and again while I was studying there. I don¡¯t think I¡¯ll ever quite understand where the Garanese hatred for them arose.¡±


    A new voice chimed in as a slim, elegant woman with dark hair sat next to them. ¡°Oh, well, if it¡¯s scholarly interest, I can offer a history lesson¡­¡±


    Even Mouse blinked at her in surprise: she¡¯d appeared like a shadow when a cloud went away, totally unseen until she wanted to be. Amir surged to his feet and bowed.


    ¡°My lady herald!¡±


    The woman¡¯s smile flashed warmly in eyes like molten gold. ¡°There¡¯s no need for that here. It¡¯s been many years, Amir. You were, what? Nine years old when last we met?¡±


    ¡°I¡­believe so, my lady, yes.¡± Amir cleared his throat, clearly unbalanced by her remembering him, and fell back on manners. ¡°Ah, er, her ladyship the herald Dragon, may I introduce Captain Jerl Holten of the Cavalier Queen, and Derghan, chief of Clan Vargur¡­¡± he trailed off with an increasingly familiar scowl, as though searching for a word on the tip of his tongue.


    Mouse cleared his throat.


    ¡°Oh! Ah. Damn. Sorry. Yes. And this is Mouse, adventurer and treasure hunter,¡± Amir added, flushing a shade darker.


    Dragon gave Mouse an amused look, clearly seeing right through Amir¡¯s flattering description. ¡°How dashing!¡±


    ¡°Much more dashing than I deserve,¡± Mouse demurred.


    ¡°I¡¯m sure you¡¯ll fully deserve it in time,¡± she replied. ¡°Anyway, please forgive my interruption. I¡¯m here on behalf of the Court Unkept. No doubt some others will be along too, soon enough.¡±


    ¡°Other¡ªOh. I see.¡± Jerl blinked. ¡°That¡¯s, uh, unexpected. My understanding was the Crowns have already done as much as they dare in this matter¡­¡±


    ¡°They have. But Heralds are not Crowns. We are¡­.in many ways, much closer to mortals than we are to the Four. Our actions don¡¯t have as much weight as the Crowns¡¯. We still have to step very carefully of course, but the consequences of us putting a foot wrong are less, ah¡­.devastating.¡±


    ¡°I see¡­¡± Jerl said, not really seeing at all. But, very well. He was glad for whatever help he could get. ¡°Well¡­it is a great privilege to meet you. I¡¯ve always hoped to catch a glimpse of you in flight, but I haven¡¯t been so lucky, yet.¡±


    She smiled. ¡°I can¡¯t be everywhere at once, alas. And the sky is so very big. But you¡¯ll see me fly, soon enough. For now¡­ah, there she is.¡±


    She stood up and trotted away to embrace another dark-haired woman, this one not quite so tall nor so striking. Indeed, if not for Ellaenie¡¯s story, Jerl would have had no idea who she was. Gorgeous, yes, but in most regards she looked simply like a Craenen ridirevhan. A slightly wide mouth, round eyes, swathed in black and a green-and-blue tartan¡­but it could only be Rheannach.


    She caught him watching her, and favored him with a small smile of welcome before returning her attention to Dragon. What were the Heralds of different Courts to each other, Jerl wondered? Did they see each other as siblings? Cousins? Friends? Questions for later, maybe. here and now¡­


    He massaged his temple. The headache little Saoirse had given him was starting to come back. All these powerful, ancient beings around him, he thought. Between Sayf, Dragon and Rheannach, the presence of three immortals weighed heavily on time, like a boulder depressing the soft earth around it.


    ¡­Except¡­


    He blinked, and turned his attention to a robed figure lurking under a tree at some remove from the party. The robe was plain, undecorated, as colorless as morning fog. The figure wearing it had Fey skin though, the colour of a fallen log just starting to go mossy, His beard and hair were as dark as a treacherously tempting stepping-stone in the middle of a forest stream, its surface slicked by algae. Bright eyes glinted hollowly under the hood, seeing all and clearly finding no joy in any of it.


    He stank of time. Not even the Crowns felt like him, but then again Crowns were creatures of deep eternity. Jerl couldn¡¯t sense the time on them for about the same reason he couldn¡¯t envision the entire earthmote beneath his feet. But time oozed off this elf like a fog, in a way that was at once disturbing and strangely familiar, as though he¡¯d squeezed far more time into his being than there was room for¡­


    It dawned on him that he knew where he¡¯d felt this before: Sinikka. Sin had that same feeling of being older than she actually was. But it was nowhere even close to the weight of extra lifetimes leaking from this stranger.


    Which meant, from what Jerl knew of Sin¡¯s own history, there was only one possible candidate for who this person could be. Only one person could have been punished by the Crowns even harder than the Laughing Death.


    ¡°Jerl?¡±


    Jerl came back from staring, glanced at Mouse¡¯s hand where it wasa jogging his elbow, then up at Amir, then Derghan, and cleared his throat. ¡°Sorry.¡±


    ¡°Who is that?¡± Derghan asked.


    Jerl stared a moment longer, then decided¡­fuck it. If he was here, they¡¯d all find out soon anyway. May as well get it out of the way.


    ¡°I¡¯m pretty sure,¡± he said, ¡°his name is Ekve.¡±


    The music stopped.


    <hr>


    <h2>Interlude: The Old City, eight years previously</h2>


    Auldenheigh, Enerlend, Garanhir 09.05.15.13.04


    Last night had been a good night for Jed Bothroyd: he¡¯d slept in his own bed for a change.


    First time in two weeks, that. And the missus had been so happy to see him home she¡¯d had nowt to say about his long hours.


    ¡®Course, she was used to it. This wasn¡¯t the first Dukesmoot Jed had been involved in guarding, nor would it be the last, most like. The gathering of Garanhir¡¯s rulers always brought the crowds out, and that meant the Constabulary was out in force too. Especially after the riots and protests. And as a veteran serjant, Jed¡¯s job had been to shout and cajole and threaten and berate and generally ¡°motivate¡± his lads into lining up and keeping the peace.


    Then he¡¯d got his night¡¯s sleep at home with Dahlia, because he¡¯d bloody well needed it, and now¡­here he was. Marching up and down behind his lads keeping orderly control of the thin black line in their austere uniforms and the distinctive helmets that had earned the force the nickname ¡°bellheads.¡± Normally it was the only actual protection they wore, other than a stout truncheon and a service pistol, and normally that would be all the protection they needed.


    Turning out for the Dukesmoot was normally just a lot of standing around looking well-groomed while the toffs nobbed it up inside the old palace for an afternoon. Today was very different.


    Today, stuff was getting thrown. Small stones and paper bags full of shit, mostly. If some silly bugger moved on up to bricks or stones or firebombs, they got brought down hard by Lieutenant Morson¡¯s outfit, the Willow Yard Specialists.


    Morson wasn¡¯t a bad sort for an officer, Bothroyd thought. Man at least knew which end of a criminal the shit habitually flowed out of, and he had the keen eye for detail of a man with thrice his experience. He was wasted on taking the silly buggers out in the streets down, when he ought to have been chasing down the young duchess¡¯ attacker.


    But¡­nope. Word had come down from so high up it might as well be casting Eclipse that the first of the Dukesmoot¡¯s business today was to hold trial, in absence, of Ellaenie of House Banmor on charges of working evil magics. Should she be found guilty (which everyone believed was a certainty at this point) they would then strip her of her titles and authority, and elevate a suitable heir.


    A good chunk of the public were, to put it mildly, fucking livid.


    Those were the ones who loved their young duchess and firmly believed Rheannach must have come to save her, rather than punish. In the absence of certain knowledge though, the fence-sitters were in a large majority, and dwindling as the Oneists pushed hard on the witchcraft and wickedness angle. Auldenheigh was split down the middle, and Ellaenie¡¯s support was dwindling rapidly. Not because they¡¯d been won over, but because their cause seemed increasingly hopeless. Even the staunchest loyalist had to admit defeat in the face of overwhelming opposition.


    Still, there were a few diehards lashing out in Ellaenie¡¯s name, and rather more self-righteous prats determined to root out the witch¡¯s sympathizers. And Jed Bothroyd and his men were caught keeping the peace in the middle.


    Which was why today they¡¯d put on the riot gear. Thick padded gambesons, sturdy wicker shields, and long batons rather than the short truncheons promised a bloody rebuke to any fool who disturbed the public order today. As did the chosen marksmen conspicuously placed around the Elven Palace.


    Jed hated it. He¡¯d have retired on principle, if not for the Darkdrake.


    Still. Enough armed men and enough threat was doing its work. The crowd was muttering and restless, but the hours of the Dukesmoot stretched by without incident until nearly nightfall.


    The bells rang. With a heavy slam, the Elven Palace¡¯s front doors were heaved open, and a trio of men, two in the colorful array of the palace wardens, marched out with their heads down and their expressions solemn. They moved directly to the spot where the flight of stairs up to the palace was flattened out, the tradiitonal spot for grand declarations, and the man in the plainer clothing took position, with a scroll in his hand and the other gripping a magestone.


    There was a brief flash and tingle of magic, and the man¡¯s voice echoed across the square at a thunderous volume.


    ¡°Hear all! Hear all! By order of the Dukesmoot, be it known that Ellaenie of House Banmor is found guilty of the working of evil magics. At her feet are laid the crimes of treason by attempting to subvert the due authority and process of the Moot; slavery by bewitchment of the mind; conspiracy to murder, by use of Shades, their graces the late Duke Einharth and Duchess Emilie¡ª¡±


    From somewhere deep in the crowd, the word ¡°Bullshit!¡± cracked out with all the volume of a pistol shot. The man who¡¯d yelled it wasn¡¯t alone: in seconds, the crowd was shouting, booing, jeering so loudly that even the cryer¡¯s magically amplified voice was shouted down.


    ¡°Lying bastards,¡± one of the men next to Jed grumbled.


    ¡°Steady now, lads. ¡®Er Grace wouldn¡¯t want no-one gettin¡¯ ¡®urt on ¡®er account. We keep peace, even for these lyin¡¯ sods, arright?¡±


    ¡°It ain¡¯t right, sarge,¡± another man commented.


    ¡°No lad, it ain¡¯t. So we do what is right. An¡¯ right now, that means makin¡¯ sure there¡¯s no blood in¡¯t streets today. An¡¯ we¡ª¡±


    A young man burst out of the crowd with something in his hand. He made it ten paces up the palace stairs and drew back to throw the juicy, overripe projectile he¡¯d smuggled with him, perfectly aimed into the cryer¡¯s face.


    Seconds later, the two wardens descended on him, cudgels flying.


    ¡°Shit.¡± **Jed was moving, pushing past his men to get the stupid bastards off the boy before it became a murder, but as he drew close he saw it was already too late for that. There was a crunch, and the cudgel came away smeared with red that was altogether the wrong shade to be tomato pulp.


    The crowd surged forward, even as Jed shouldered the two wardens off the stricken youth. But the lads were right behind him, and the thin black line closed in from both sides of the palace steps, just in time for the angry mob to crash against them.


    Jed Bothroyd did not get his wish.


    Blood ran in the streets that day after all.


    <hr>


    <blockquote>


    Here, then, is the truth we have chased: The self is a lie. It is a dream, an illusion, nothing more. If a man cannot live except by the efforts of his collective, and the same is true of every man, then how can an individual be said to exist at all? What are you?


    You cannot know by turning your thought inwards. But you will find the answer in your neighbor¡¯s face.


    ¡ªNils Civorage, The Circle


    </blockquote>


    <h2>Summer¡¯s Grove</h2>


    The Oasis, Alhulw Earthmote 09.06.03.09.13


    There had been rather a long and tense pause at first.


    Afterwards, there had been an even longer and more tense conversation in Feydh that Jerl hadn¡¯t followed at all. Spiteful, at first. Angry, bitter, vengeful, dark and threatening. There had been the definite impression that only Sayf¡¯s presence and his will for there to be peace had kept things even that civil.


    But Jerl¡¯s attention had been on Sinikka. While Harad and the other R¨¹wyrdan squared off with Ekve, she had stood back and stared at him a long, long time until at last Sayf had come and put a hand on her shoulder and spoken some words for her ears only.


    She¡¯d looked up, at him, looked back at Ekve, then stepped forward, literally pushing Harad gently but firmly aside in a way that reminded Jerl she had once been an empress herself, in distant past lives, and was still the first Penitent, the founder of a whole school of Elfish philosophy¡­


    If he¡¯d been expecting a hug, some grand gesture of welcome and acceptance though, he was disappointed. She just asked Ekve a question. A short one.


    Ekve¡¯s reply was to hang his head. Whatever his answer was, it was equally short.


    The tableau that followed would stick in Jerl¡¯s mind forever, and made him wish he could paint like the masters hung in Sayf¡¯s galleries. The Penitents on one side, the lone arch-Supremacist on the other, Crown and Heralds alongside dozens of human onlookers, beneath the branchs of an olive grove. No-one spoke or moved on either side for several long, silent seconds.


    Then Sin softened, very slightly. ¡°Ukao r¨¹vaya vachadvatemka, Ekve.¡±


    ¡°Sooth.¡±


    ¡°On uka ik dhech? Thran wol chal, lach vam?¡±


    Ekve nodded, slowly and with a weight of endless regret. ¡°Se. Hako¡­hako¡¯n cradh ki wyrdko i¡­.¡± He took a deep, trembling breath, then declared: ¡°¡­Ohako ord, se Ordsiwat Set boet. M¨¦ ir sooth av ordfey covka advatemko. Virt¨¹en hako i Cankuu, at thre els iren elanakun.¡±


    Sin glanced at Sayf again as astonished whispering rustled around the elves. The Crown nodded; for once, his face was lined and grim. This was a moment so serious that even the god of jollity had grown deathly serious. She glanced over at Jerl, who could offer no help. He, in turn, turned to Amir.


    If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    ¡°What did they say?¡±


    ¡°She told him his¡­.uh¡­journey-of-regret, his penance, would never end. He said that was true. She asked him if he was willing to embark on it anyway, across all his endless lives to come, without escape or failure. He said yes, and then he said¡­¡± Amir¡¯s voice caught, and he had to clear his throat before he could translate. ¡°He said¡­¡®By my authority, the Ordsiwat Tribe is no more. May its philosophy of the supremacy of elves be abandoned forever. So I swear to Prince Sayf, and to the three others who made us all.¡¯¡±


    ¡°Valkyr¡¯s veil.¡± Derghan murmured. ¡°The fuck did they do to him?¡±


    Jerl looked to Mouse. ¡°¡­He¡¯s earnest?¡±


    Mouse, he realized, was having a hard time keeping his expression steady, but he still managed to croak out the word ¡°Completely,¡± through clenched teeth. Whatever emotions were rolling off the former emperor must be overpowering.


    Very well. Jerl looked back at Sinikka, found her waiting patiently for him and stepped forward. He gave Ekve a good hard look up and down. The elf¡¯s gaze was hollow, anticipating nothing. He was quite beautiful, Jerl realized, in the otherworldly way of elves. But regret and shame hung so heavily on him that his fine bone structure aand bright eyes were quite overshadowed, and there was nothing proud or poised in his bearing. This was a broken being.


    No less than he deserved, perhaps.


    ¡°¡­I¡¯m guessing you don¡¯t know much Garanese.¡±


    Ekve tipped his head slightly. ¡°I speak it well enough. Remember from¡­other lives.¡±


    ¡°Hrrm. And now you¡¯re here. The Crowns clearly think you should be.¡±


    Ekve didn¡¯t reply, beyond a small conceding nod.


    ¡°What do you want?¡± Jerl asked him.


    ¡°Purpose.¡± Ekve spread his hands. ¡°Ordsiwat Set is no more. Dream of Ordfey is gone. Should have been gone long ago, but I was too stubborn to learn lesson. Now¡­I am nothing. Not Soothnadhar of a Set, not emperor in waiting. Just¡­one who sinned terribly. Caernnenas tells me I am loved no matter what, but¡­¡±


    Jerl nodded. ¡°Purpose, I can give.¡±


    ¡°Then you have a servant in me, if you will have me.¡±


    ¡°Do you bring anything to us beyond just another penitent Fey and his wychwethel?¡±


    Ekve cleared his throat. ¡°I had thought¡­Knowledge and advice. Long experience,¡± he said. ¡°These, you have already. But perhaps I know mind of this Civorage well. Perhaps he thinks like to me. You are¡­hm¡­innocent, of thoughts of men like him and me.¡±


    ¡°Monsters, you mean.¡±


    Ekve didn¡¯t flinch. ¡°Yes. And even Bomirdd, beloved Bekhil, she is different kind of monster. Bekhil was...a safe consort. No grand designs of having my throne. So long as blood flowed, Bomirdd was happy. Never wanted what I craved. Civorage, he is same kind of monster as Ekve Feycaernko. Wants whole world, all people in it, to serve and worship. Thirst for it, needs it. Endlessly: even if he wins, he will never drink his fill.¡±


    He looked around the grove. ¡°No other here has same sickness, even if they are not innocent. I do.¡±


    Jerl frowned at him, then looked up toward the three immortals. Dragon and Rheannach were stood aside, watching this unfold, and neither gave away anything off her thoughts. And Prince Sayf had quietly vanished, unnoticed. But Sinikka caught his eye and nodded, just a twitch.


    ¡°That may be useful,¡± Jerl conceded. ¡°But I noted you said you have the same sickness. Present tense.¡±


    ¡°Even Caernnenas did not burn it from my soul. Maybe he could not, maybe he would not. Maybe in my next Chal I will fall back and be what I was before¡­I think not. I hope not. Bekhil did not.¡±


    ¡°Bekhil swore an oath to me,¡± Jerl reminded him.


    ¡°I will swear too, if you let me.¡±


    Premonition struck at last. This was a fulcrum moment, a nexus in time, a breadcrumb Jerl had left for himself. Curiously, it went completely against his instinct. The right thing to do, it seemed, was the opposite of what he was inclined to do. How? Why?


    Well¡­if there was anyone he trusted entirely in this whole mess, it was himself. Or at least the godlike version who¡¯d charted this course after speaking Time.


    He looked Ekve in the eye and shook his head. ¡°I will not accept your oath,¡± he said, and ignored the surprised look Sin gave him. ¡°But I will take your counsel and insight.¡±


    ¡°Unbound? Free?¡± Ekve looked just as shocked as Sin.


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°¡­Then you have them, and my blade. But why?¡±


    ¡°The mysteries of Time. I don¡¯t know why, but¡­I have a premonition that you¡¯ll be more useful if you are not bound to me by oath,¡± Jerl told him, straightforwardly. ¡°Do not disappoint.¡±


    ¡°I shall not,¡± Ekve promised.


    ¡°Outstanding.¡±


    ¡°If that is settled, I believe it¡¯s about time we all had a good long talk about the reason we¡¯re all here¡­¡± Lady Pal declared, stepping forward out from under the trees to settle, quite comfortably, in the middle of the circle with all eyes on her. She seemed entirely natural there. ¡°We have had our merriment, our song and our good food and wine. Now must come the more solemn business. My husband has prepared a forum where we can discuss these matters appropriately¡­if you will follow me?¡±


    She gestured with the quiet confidence of one who knew her polite invitation carried the weight of royal command, and turned to lead them away. Around the grove, the Queen¡¯s crew, the Rats and the others traded curious glances, then rose to their feet and followed her. Ekve bowed slightly to Jerl and glided away across the grass, while Mouse went to help his father along.


    Jerl, Sinikka, Derghan and Amir brought up the rear. And as soon as they were private enough to talk¡­


    ¡°Are you sure about not binding him with an oath?¡± Derghan asked. ¡°¡°Elves take oaths seriously, you know.¡±


    ¡°Ach! You make it sound like some weird foible,¡± Sin grumbled.


    ¡°Says you of all people,¡± Derghan retorted, fondly. ¡°I know it¡¯s no foible. It¡¯s just¡­that¡¯s the guy whose people tried to kill us a couple weeks ago. The emperor who¡¯s plotted for thousands of years to bring the Ordfey back. I¡¯m not sure I like the idea of him running off-leash, y¡¯know?¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s got something far more powerful than a leash restraining him now, Derghan.¡± Sin shook her head. ¡°No, the reason to secure his oath isn¡¯t about controlling him or having trust in him. It¡¯s¡­it¡¯s about status.¡±


    ¡°The difference between taking on a servant, and allying with a king,¡± Amir agreed.


    ¡°I have a whole Set of oathsworn,¡± Jerl pointed out. ¡°Maybe I need an alliance with a king more. Or maybe¡­maybe something¡¯s coming where doing the right thing would be in conflict with his oath. Either way, premonition warned me to leave him free, so I did. I mean¡­if I can¡¯t trust myself, who can I trust?¡±


    Sin shrugged. ¡°A question close to my heart, nay?¡±


    ¡°¡­Uh¡ª¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t make the mistake of assuming you can¡¯t go the same way as Civorage did, skipper,¡± she cautioned him. ¡°We all can. You¡¯re a good man and I trust you¡­¡±


    ¡°But trust is only meaningful in the presence of doubt,¡± Amir nodded. ¡°Just as there¡¯s a difference between a peaceful man and a harmless man, there¡¯s a difference between a trustworthy man and one so meek that trust never enters into it.¡±


    ¡°Well, I¡¯m going to keep trusting my past self, until I get a reason not to,¡± Jerl declared.


    ¡°Only thing you can do,¡± Derghan agreed amiably. ¡°Can¡¯t let doubt paralyze you, now.¡±


    ¡°Also true,¡± Amir conceded. Sinikka just shrugged.


    They were the last out of the olive grove, and emerged into a circular forum perched right on the edge cliff, even jutting out slightly beyond it. The half-circle stretched out into the sky was fenced by a chest-high wall, and the forum¡¯s centerpiece was a brazier in the shape of a lotus flower in which a blue flame danced gently.


    Sayf was waiting patiently next to it, and he gestured for them to be seated as they joined the group. He seemed¡­distracted, somehow. Like his thoughts were simultaneously here and elsewhere. It was the first time Jerl had seen his face slip completely out of its resting jovial smile, and into something more serious and contemplative. The blue flames glittered in his eyes as he stared into them and stroked his beard.


    For a second, silence ruled as the mortals sat and waited, while their host gathered his thoughts. Then he exhaled softly, drew himself a little more upright, and smiled again.


    ¡°Ladies and gentlemen, beloved Heralds, dearest of friends and darling wives¡­¡± he began.


    <hr>


    <h2>Interlude: A blissful daze</h2>


    The Circle Manor, Auldenheigh, Enerlend 09.06.03.09.13


    ¡°Lisze. Up, dear.¡±


    Lisze sighed at being woken by the gentle touch on her elbow, rousing her from her bed. Around her, the others were likewise being roused, stirring, rubbing sleep from their eyes, yawning, sitting up.


    Somehow, even after all these years, the thought of how different life was now still filled her with a happy glow, and a sense of how¡­shallow she¡¯d been, before. How foolish. Before, she¡¯d had a vast bedroom and wardrobes, jewels and silks and dainty shoes and a wide bed all to herself in the middle of a room so empty, so lonely, that she¡¯d needed a fireplace to keep it warm


    How had she ever slept without the comforting sound of her sisters breathing around her? How had she ever got comfortable in a bed so expensive it could have fed a whole family for months?


    She¡¯d been a silly, spoiled girl, then. Now, even the cold flagstones under her bare feet were a source of joy. Eagerly, smiling, she skipped to her place at the edge of the room, held out her arms, linked hands, and joined the Waking Circle.


    There was not much to it. she linked hands with her sisters, smiled at them to her left and right, then lowered her head and breathed. In slowly through the nose, out openly and without effort through the mouth, more a sigh than an exhalation. Then again. She turned her mind outwards, reached out through the fingers interlaced with her neighbor¡¯s, and let the flimsy, illusory wall that was the name Lisze escape from her mind.


    With it went her thoughts. There was only peace, companionship, love. The blissful warmth of them becoming her becoming us. No edges, no walls, no separation, just one circle of the joined.


    They sang as they worked, stripping the beds and changing the sheets, ready for the night-sisters to take their deserved rest. After that, a simple but satisfying breakfast of porridge with a little caraway, and the luxury of a hot tea. They disrobed, bathed, dried, dressed, and went out to the lawn for the Dawn Circle with all the brothers.


    Lisze was on laundry duty today. Four hours of pounding and thumping clothes in the hot vats, scalding her fingertips as she plucked the linens from the seething water, cranking the mangle until her arms and back were sore¡­


    Good, honest work. A cause to celebrate. She and her sisters sang some more as they labored.


    The Midday circle was a welcome reprieve though, as was today¡¯s lunch of a hearty mutton and cabbage stew. And Lisze¡¯s afternoon duties were gentle clerical work. She spent the hours reading incoming letters, filing them or disposing of them or directing them as was needed. The words flowed past, each noticed correctly and handled appropriately, but then dutifully forgotten once the document was dealt with. By the time she was reading the next letter, she couldn¡¯t remember anything of the previous one¡¯s content.


    So it went until Nightfall Circle. Lisze stood barefoot in the cool grass, hand in hand with her siblings, eyes closed, head empty, feeling and experiencing and being all of them, and they were all part of her¡­


    Bliss.


    Tonight brought a last duty rather than the usual exercise and rest time. The time was right: along with Nethe and Carri, Lisze had been selected for the wonderful responsibility of bearing another child for the circle. This would be her seventh, how wonderful! And¡­yes, tonight was surely the right time. And the Speaker knew it of course. So, when she and her sisters closed the door behind them and their dutiful brothers rose to welcome them, Lisze was the first to unfasten her robes and let them drop so she could, once again, make herself useful.


    The tiny ghost of a memory briefly pricked her that, once upon a time, she would have fought tooth and nail to insist on being more than just a breeding mare to reward hard-working men. Somewhere deep inside her soul, the flickering ember of her dignity stubbornly refused to die...


    But it was forgotten just as quickly as it was remembered.


    She joined this last, smallest and most intimate of the day¡¯s Circles, and was happier than she had ever dreamed possible.


    <hr>


    <blockquote>


    Power can never be granted; it can only be seized. But once seized, will you shoulder its burden alone? Rare is the man who can carry such weight, and happier is the man who shares the load.


    ¡ªNils Civorage, The Circle


    </blockquote>


    <h2>Sayf¡¯s Forum</h2>


    The Oasis, Alhulw Earthmote 09.06.03.09.13


    ¡°Ladies and gentlemen, beloved Heralds, dearest of friends and darling wives¡­¡±


    Sayf paused, smiled slightly at the pomposity of his opening, and looked around them. ¡°The importance of this moment cannot be overstated. Two of the Words of Creation have now been unburied and spoken, and where they lead, my fellows and I believe the others will follow. This is a moment both long-awaited and premature. Their release was always a part of our grand design¡­but it has come before we are ready for them.¡±


    His gaze swept the gathered motley. ¡°The first man to claim this power has abused it terribly. Be assured, he will not be the last. It is the nature of power that those who are most adept at seizing it can least be trusted with it. And yet, gathered here are people who, by our will and desire, will be entrusted with the task of seizing this power.¡±


    He looked each of them in the eye. ¡°If there is any of you here who thinks, in your heart, that you are deserving of this privilege¡­leave now, for you are not. This is no privilege but a duty, and that makes it a job for the humble, the loyal, the self-doubting and the contrite. If you do not fear what you yourself could become should you gain the power of a Word yourself, then you are unworthy of them.¡±


    For a moment, his gaze was stern as he swept it around the forum, then it softened. ¡°But of course, if you were such a person, you would never have come to be here in the first place. Some of you are thieves. Others of you¡­¡± he looked at Ekve and Sinikka in particular ¡°¡­are much worse. Your pasts matter, of course¡­but the future is unwritten. The only thing that is certain of this is that we Crowns have done as much as we dare.¡±


    He spread his hands, and the blue flames in the lotus brazier danced up, forming shapes of light and ember. ¡°If you will indulge me a small history lesson¡­¡±


    The lights resolved into an image of the worlds, but not as they were now. The earthmotes all fit together neatly like a jigsaw puzzle, forming a single unbroken shell around the sun. With a gesture, the view pulled back and the world shrank as figures came into view. At least three dozen, that Jerl could see, and many were only vaguely human-shaped. Their arms were raised toward the great work, and power flowed from them, pouring itself into the creation.


    ¡°We were once many more than four,¡± Sayf revealed. ¡°Before we embarked on this great project, we numbered more than ten times as many¡­but even with so many of us, even after aeons of long and meticulous planning, the act of creation was very nearly beyond us.¡±


    As he spoke, the world-shell cracked, splintered, and broke apart. Jerl watched the jagged lines of shattering stone described the shape of Garanhir, which tore itself free from the Unbroken Mote to spin wildly through space. One of the figures reached out and pushed it back into place¡­but as she did so, her form blazed brilliantly, and vanished.


    ¡°To be what we are is to straddle the threshold between mortal existence and the transcendent¡­and to use the power of the Words is to push against that threshold, to put a little more weight on a foot that is already set on the crumbling edge,¡± Sayf recalled, watching the creation unfold as the gathered beings fought to restrain and stabilize their work. ¡°Lean too heavily¡­¡±


    One by one they blazed and departed. But as they did so, the dreadful tumult calmed, the world settled into its familiar four spheres, and the earthmotes began to revolve along their courses.


    By the time it was stable, only four remained. Jerl watched Sayf¡¯s expression, keenly aware that the Crown was showing him a cruel parting from friends he¡¯d known for infinitely longer than the Nested Worlds had existed. Profound sadness settled on the forum now, darkening its shadows, cooling the sunlight that washed across its flagstones, and deadening the sweet scents of the nearby grove. All around him, the only sound was rapt silence.


    ¡°The effort of making this world tipped all but four of us past the point of no return. Only King E?rrach has the inner strength to fully anchor himself to this universe, because he is its appointed avatar of power. The rest of us¡­well, we Crowns were closest to him, in the deepest meaning.¡±


    Above their heads, the miracle of creation became still and serene. The remaining four dropped their hands and came together, not to celebrate, but to comfort each other. Sayf still did not lower his hands, but now the turning of the worlds accelerated, became a shocking blur, then slowed. The view pulled inwards, and inwards, and inwards, toward a single nondescript mote, shell-shaped, lurking high in the innermost sphere.


    ¡°When the time is right, our plan is to follow where our friends have gone, and finally embark on that last great adventure into the Unknowable. But¡­not yet. We are not ready, and neither are you. It was an age before King E?rrach was ready to begin through us the second, much more difficult act of creation¡ªall of you.¡±


    They witnessed the First Day, when life flourished over the earthmotes. They witnessed the lakes and inland seas fill with fish, the forests flourish and put out leaves, the meadows bloom. Deer shook their heads and ran startled at the surprise of coming into existence: horses reared and ran, wolves sniffed the breeze¡­


    And in a natural amphitheatre upon that first sacred mote, a million elves and a million humans stood naked before their creators, and gazed in wonder as they were granted knowledge.


    Sayf lowered his hands, and the vision dissipated. ¡°There is¡­very much I am not telling you, but I will give you an important hint: it was not merely the King¡¯s power which made you. It took all we had and vastly, hugely, incomprehensibly more¡­and so, now: all of us Crowns are at our limit. This matter of Words and their use is not for us to touch. We stand too near the precipice, and took already too great a risk merely in consulting Time. Because if we push any more against the threshold of transcendence, if we lean just a little further beyond the cliff¡¯s edge, then we too shall cross that point of no return. Our King has it in himself to stay as long as he pleases¡­¡±


    ¡°But will he, without you?¡± Ellaenie asked, the first voice other than his to speak up in many minutes.


    ¡°For your sake, he would. But the three of us would never put that burden on him. He¡­power such as his isn¡¯t for himself. He needs to give it for the sake of others. He needs communion with those he loves, and that communion extends to levels of being you cannot begin to comprehend. What then if we cross over? Who else can flourish in the inferno of his love? It is far too much for anyone to bear for long, as one here knows especially well.¡± At this he glanced to Rheannach, who held his gaze a moment before blinking and looking down and away.


    ¡°What happens if he leaves?¡± somebody asked. Jerl only realized it was himself when Sayf looked at him.


    ¡°He is the binding power of this world. If he leaves without passing the baton to a capable successor¡ªif indeed there can ever be such a thing¡ªthen the will and discipline by which these worlds are maintained will fail, and all life, Fey and Human, flora and fauna, will perish as our great work comes apart and disintegrates into the void. And that will at last be the final moment in this Creation. Over before its time.¡±


    And now, Sayf¡¯s expression was one Jerl would never have imagined to see on his smiling, broad face: he looked haggard, drained, even old. So much so that Ellaenie rose to her feet and touched his arm, clearly concerned.


    Her touch seemed to rejuvenate him. Sayf took a deep breath, looked in her eyes, stooped to kiss her, and seemed young and glad again. But Jerl was never going to forget that just for a second he had seen all the Crown¡¯s uncountable years written in his face and posture, and doubted anyone else would either.


    Sayf gave his wife a grateful squeeze, then took a step back. ¡°And so I must take my leave,¡± he said. ¡°You now understand somewhat more of the situation. How you proceed, I must entrust to your own will and good sense. For your own benefit, I must decline to speak any further of the Words or answer your questions about them. I could tell you much, of course¡­but in doing so, I would rob you of a transformative mystery. You will, I hope, see what I mean and why in the fullness of time.¡±


    He stepped back toward the edge of the circle, smiled, and bowed to them. ¡°Bless you all: may your coming voyage exceed your every dream.¡±


    And then he turned and was gone, like a song between the trees. The gathered mortals and heralds stood and sat in silence for a long moment, each grappling with their own thoughts.


    Dragon broke the silence. She stepped into the middle of the circle and looked around. ¡°Most of you know each others¡¯ stories, at least as much as is necessary. What you may know less of is the events outside of your own adventures. To me, these last ten years, has fallen the task of keeping a close watch on Civorage and the spread of his influence. He has been¡­industrious.¡±


    She nodded toward Jerl. ¡°Ten years ago, of course, he made his first move and bought out the Clear Skies Trade Guild, becoming its sole owner. From what I can tell he was still relatively timid in the use of his powers then, using them to influence the other owners into selling for an absurdly low price. Had he been bolder, he could have just commanded them to hand him everything they owned.¡±


    Grim nods around the forum said they all knew just how much bolder their enemy had become since then.


    ¡°With the guild solely under his control, he turned his sights to Enerlend, knowing that if he could achieve a triumph at the Dukesmoot, he would have all of Garanhir to work with, unimpeded,¡± Dragon continued. ¡°This, he achieved¡­though it was also the site of his first major setback. Raksuul?¡±


    Rheannach nodded. ¡°The curse laid on him by Saoirse Crow-Sight was a work of witchcraft unrivalled in all the ages of the world. I¡­even though I mentored her in the Craft, she still shocked me in that moment. She¡¯s laid a doom on him I didn¡¯t even think was possible: ¡®May thy victories be sullied, may thy worst foes escape your wrath, may ye ever snatch defeat frae the jaws o¡¯ victory.¡¯ Nobody has ever laid a curse like it, nor sacrificed so completely in doing so.¡±


    ¡°And so it has proved ever since,¡± Dragon reported. ¡°His next target was the Yunei Empire, but just as he was about to set his plan into motion, the Emperor issued a new decree isolating the Empire and forbidding all foreign ships from making port, on pain of being shot down as they approach. The other guilds have been warned about him and been careful not to expose themselves to him. Although his conquests of Garanhir and Aalakbir were swift, elsewhere he¡¯s struggled to make real progress. The Craenen and Eni-Il?yedu in particular have rebuffed him several times, just through their lack of unity. He has made good progress in Arthenun Il?yeda, but he has not yet visited in person, and Lady Pal¡¯s agents in that city have been quite successful in containing his own men.¡±


    ¡°We think he is likely to attend in person, soon,¡± Pal pointed out.


    ¡°Indeed I think he would have already, if not for¡­¡± Dragon gestured, with a frown of effort, to Mouse. ¡°¡ªthe theft of the Word itself from his keeping.¡±


    ¡°It drove him mad,¡± Rheannach agreed. ¡°After you stole it, he recalled his fleet to Long Drop, and immediately set sail. Most of his ships he set to hunting the Cavalier Queen, but he also took the Ring of Eternity and Make Your Own Fortune and set out at speed. We didn¡¯t know his destination until eight days ago¡­when he attacked the Observatory.¡±


    Amir and Imdura both sat up straight and wide-eyed. ¡°Attacked it?¡± Imdura burst.


    Dragon nodded solemnly. ¡°He landed a company of marines, we know that much. He remained for four days, before boarding the Ring again and setting sail.¡±


    ¡°How do we know this?¡± Whisker asked, curiously.


    ¡°I have had one of my sons trailing the Ring of Eternity since she was launched,¡± Dragon explained. ¡°Josurvon¡¯s particular talent is remaining unseen, especially in the sky. He¡¯s quite invisible amongst cloud and mist.¡±


    Eyebrows raised and there was some impressed muttering among the gathered mortals. Dragon was known to occasionally wed a mortal husband, and from these unions were born her children, the drakes. Each was a reflection of their mother¡¯s splendor, perhaps not quite as powerful but still occasionally glimpsed on the wing now and again, soaring from earthmote to earthmote on their own business.


    ¡°But why?¡± Jerl mused. ¡°The navigators are learned of course, but¡­¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s looking for the other Words,¡± Amir said.


    All eyes turned to him, including Dragon¡¯s striking golden ones. Her brow furrowed slightly in increasingly troubled thought. ¡°How do you arrive at that deduction?¡± she asked.


    ¡°The navigators hold no political power, beyond whatever we can barter out of the fact we save ship owners a good deal of money by plotting efficient courses for them,¡± Amir said. ¡°But the Observatory is home to the Grand Orrery, which is simultaneously the largest and most accurate map of the nested worlds in existence and the most powerful creation of the Art known to man. I worked on it for three years, channeling constant magical energy into it to keep it running, and among its many powers is the ability to find points of interests and chart routes between them.¡±


    Imdura was nodding now, grimly. ¡°The ritual could be adapted to finding an object of sufficient arcane power,¡± he said.


    ¡°Like a Word-vault,¡± Amir agreed. ¡°It wouldn¡¯t be a small or easy adaptation, but I can already think of a few ways I¡¯d begin going about it.¡±


    Dragon was scowling now. She turned to Jerl. ¡°Timespeaker¡­have you any premonition about this?¡±


    Jerl hesitated, then turned his thoughts inward to find the Word and¡­well, it felt rather like pulling on a rope. There was that moment where, if he pulled steadily and well, the turn of the boom would grab hold and he¡¯d be steadying rather than heaving on it.


    This time, though, Time stubbornly refused to budge. No insight came to him, no vision or memory of places he¡¯d not yet been or things he¡¯d never yet done.


    Or¡­no. No, there was one thing. ¡°I don¡¯t¡­I don¡¯t think he¡¯s searching for other Words, yet. At least, I don¡¯t foresee the danger of him gaining one. And I think I would.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps he was trying to reclaim Mind,¡± Mouse suggested. ¡°He¡¯s got that sort of personality, he doesn¡¯t really understand the idea of giving up power for the greater good. He would assume, if he tracked Mind, he¡¯d find us¡­¡±


    ¡°¡­What would happen if the Orrery tried to track an object that was in the Void?¡± Jerl asked Amir.


    ¡°Valkyr knows! I¡­it might yield nothing, or it might yield a false location, depending on¡­well. It depends.¡±


    ¡°So it¡¯s possible he¡¯s off chasing a false hope right now?¡± Derghan perked up.


    ¡°We can¡¯t trust to that,¡± Jerl declared. ¡°We need a definite plan based on what we know, not on what we hope for.¡±


    He saw Harad nodding, where he stood silent in the back against a tree. Good.


    ¡°So what¡¯s the plan, skipper?¡± Derghan asked.


    ¡°I say we do what Civorage has done: we go to the navigators and use the Grand Orrery to track some more of the Words.¡±


    There were a number of nods, but Mouse frowned and shook his head. ¡°I¡¯m¡­weaker, now I don¡¯t have the Word to draw on directly. Probably he is too, but he¡¯s had this power for far longer. I¡¯m not so sure I can break his control over a thrall¡­¡±


    ¡°I believe I can help, there,¡± said Ellaenie.


    All eyes turned to her. She smiled at Mouse then looked around the gathered people. ¡°I¡¯ve spent much time and effort these past eight years working on ways to break Civorage¡¯s control over the enthralled, and shield ourselves from his influence. And I believe I have the solution¡­quite literally!¡±


    She produced a small glass bottle and held it up. ¡°Alchemy is one of the disciplines of the Craft. We use magic to alter the properties of an infusion or tonic as it is brewed. Some of you will have heard that witches drink strange potions¡­well, this is one of them. It¡¯s my masterpiece, a tonic designed to alter the drinker¡¯s state of mind enough to thwart an invasive will, without intoxicating.¡±


    ¡°How do you know it works?¡± Amir asked.


    ¡°Well¡­I drank it just a few minutes ago,¡± Ellaenie revealed. ¡°I feel perfectly sober. But¡­¡±


    She turned her eyes to Mouse and smiled at him. ¡°Perhaps you would care to help me test it?¡±


    ¡°What¡ª?¡± Mouse blinked at her and stood up. ¡°Oh. Okay. Let¡¯s see now¡­¡±


    ¡°Yup. Give me your best¡­your¡­¡± Ellaenie trailed off. ¡°I¡­Hmm. Wow. Okay.¡±


    ¡°Something¡¯s¡­.I feel like¡­.what were we talking about?¡± Amir asked.


    ¡°Her grace¡¯s masterpiece,¡± Jerl offered, watching their faces with interest. The way their eyes just refused to linger on Mouse and would skip right past him. When Mouse poked Derghan in the arm, Derghan rubbed the spot absently, as though he hadn¡¯t really noticed it.


    ¡°Yes¡­¡± Ellaenie was staring directly at Mouse, though her face was pinched with concentration. ¡°It works. I can¡­I see you. Sort of.¡±


    There was a a moment¡¯s awkward, confused silence. Jerl watched them with growing amusement: he¡¯d felt Mouse¡¯s will push hard against his, but there was still that feeling like something thick and impenetrable was coccooning his mind, allowing him to feel and experience the force of Mouse¡¯s power, but sufficiently dampened for him to hold on and withstand it, if he concentrated.


    ¡°Uh¡­who are you talking to, duchess?¡± Derghan asked, looking left and right and straight through Mouse.


    ¡°Not perfectly effective, then,¡± Mouse observed, releasing his grip on them.


    Several people jumped or gasped. Derghan made a strained noise and shook his head as though dislodging something. ¡°Urgh, Winter¡¯s tits*.* That¡¯s fuckin¡¯ weird, every time¡­Ow.¡± He frowned down at his arm, and rubbed it again.


    Ellaenie, by contrast, relaxed. ¡°Not perfectly,¡± she agreed. ¡°But good enough. I could¡­I couldn¡¯t see you, as such. Or at least, I couldn¡¯t have described what you looked like. But I remembered you were there, even if the details went fuzzy.¡± She cleared her throat and rallied. ¡°The point is¡­we have a weapon. One with which we can start reducing Civorage¡¯s power base. Up until now, every territory or institution he has seized has been lost, and we have had no hope of reclaiming it. Now, with this¡­¡± she waggled the bottle, ¡°Now we can. We can rescue his slaves, give them their own minds back.¡±


    ¡°A noble intent,¡± Harad commented, speaking up from his spot against a tree. ¡°And no doubt useful at the Observatory. But after that, what then? Will we just sail around on the Cavalier Queen gathering Words? To what end? What is the step after that?¡±


    ¡°You can¡¯t plan out the endgame while you¡¯re still in the opening,¡± Jerl replied. ¡°But you¡¯re right, we do need to think further than the next move. So, my next proposal: Whisker. You were talking about setting up a base of operations and re-establishing some of your old contacts on a Wandering Isle. Could you do it here instead?¡±


    ¡°Here would be even better,¡± Whisker said, He coughed twice, patted his chest, and cleared his throat. ¡°If Prince Sayf is willing to let me remain, of course.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sure he is,¡± Ellaenie said.


    ¡°And yours would not be the first or only spy network based here,¡± Pal pointed out. ¡°Both Ellaenie and I have our own networks of contacts, agents, friends¡­¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re proposing we merge our operations?¡± Whisker asked.


    Pal and Ellaenie nodded at each other, then turned to Dragon. ¡°My lady?¡±


    ¡°My husband has maintained a resistance network on Garanhir,¡± Dragon explained to Whisker, with a small proud smile. ¡°He gives apologies that he cannot be here today, but it is risky for him to travel. He has only a few agents, but thus far we have managed to stay a step ahead of the Oneists. The assistance of the Street Rats would be exactly what we need to go from merely observing, to taking action. With appropriate compartmentalization and care, of course.¡±


    ¡°Those kinds of connections and opportunities take work,¡± Whisker pointed out. ¡°We can¡¯t do it all by correspondence. There need to be meetings, talks, hands need shaking. One of my own people would need to represent us out there. Ju-Wi? You up for it?¡±


    ¡°Me, in Enerlend?¡± Ju-Wi asked. ¡°I¡¯d stick out like I was lotus pink, wouldn¡¯t I?¡±


    ¡°Auldenheigh has the largest Yunei population outside of the Empire itself,¡± Ellaenie pointed out. ¡°Nearly thirty thousand, mostly in the districts of Heighbank and Stone Circles. I assure you, you won¡¯t be as noticeable as you think.¡±


    ¡°Then I¡¯m in. Better use for my talents than galley work!¡± Ju-Wi cackled and flashed a gappy grin at Jerl. ¡°You¡¯re gonna miss my cooking though, aren¡¯tcha?¡±


    ¡°Life aboard ship¡¯s been almost too comfortable, lately. Your absence will do my waistline some good,¡± Jerl retorted, prompting some chuckles.


    ¡°Aww, ¡®yer a sweetheart!¡±


    Jerl chuckled and looked around, weighing up the people about him. His loyal and driven crew, a whole elfish Set¡¯s worth of warriors, two Heralds, two crownspouses, the leaders of a crime syndicate itching for a chance to rebuild¡­


    And one other.


    ¡°Alright. You said you had insights into CIvorage¡¯s way of thinking,¡± he said, turning to Ekve. ¡°Let¡¯s hear it.¡±


    Ekve had straight, slim eyebrows angled inwards like a shallow V. Now, as he frowned in thought, they met in the middle. ¡°He does not act like a brute warlord,¡± he observed. ¡°You treat him like charging bull, but remember the¡­the vathelan ordencordd, the, uh¡­Duke¡¯s Moot in Old-On-High. He planned long ahead, there. First he tested, then he listened. Like a game of strategy, he learned about his opponent with the first move, then when he learns she is aggressive, he strikes decisively rather than risk a longer game. That is not the play of a charging bull.¡±


    ¡°True,¡± Ellaenie conceded.


    ¡°Mm. It¡¯s true, we can¡¯t plan the endgame right from the opening move. Civorage will have his say as well. But our plans must be more than two moves long. We will claim the Words? Then we need to plan who gets which ones. Do all go to the Timespeaker?¡±


    ¡°Absolutely not!¡± Jerl threw his hands up reflexively. The very idea filled him with cold dread.


    ¡°Then we must know more about them. There are Time and *Mind¡­*what others? How many? What dangers come with them? If the Crowns will tell us no more about them, then who can?¡±


    ¡°Yngmir,¡± Amir declared, promptly. ¡°I first read about the Words in the Thundering Hall¡¯s library. I¡­hmm.¡± He closed his eyes and tilted his head, searching his memory. ¡°There are¡­orders to them. Each of the lower-order words is a facet of the higher order¡­beyond that, I don¡¯t know. I never studied that lore very closely.¡±


    Ekve twisted aa pinch of his beard as he listened, nodding. ¡°Then it seems to me that before we can make use of the Observatory to find the Words, we must go to Yngmir¡¯s hall to learn more of them,¡± he said.


    ¡°I agree.¡±


    ¡°When I went there through my first loop, Civorage attacked and burned the Thundering Hall,¡± Jerl pointed out. ¡°We¡¯ll want to avoid that, this time.¡±


    ¡°We could change the Queen¡¯s livery a bit,¡± Derghan suggested. ¡°Swap out the bagcloth, give ¡®er a lick of paint. She¡¯ll not be so quickly recognized.¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s due a new bag anyway,¡± Marren added. ¡°It¡¯s more patch than cloth, now.¡±


    ¡°We can provide, of course,¡± Lady Pal offered.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± Jerl nodded. ¡°So¡­to summarize the plan so far, we intend to pretty up the Queen a bit so we can hopefully fly unmolested. After that, we¡¯ll visit the Thundering Hall to learn what Yngmir knows of the Words of Creation. Thus armed, we¡¯ll then liberate the Observatory and use the Grand Orrery to track down the other vaults. Armed with the Words, we¡¯ll be able to begin dismantling Civorage¡¯s empire, beginning¡­where?¡±


    Pal and Ellaenie exchanged a look, then Ellaenie sighed. ¡°Arthenun Il?yeda,¡± she said. ¡°Much as I¡¯d like to begin in Enerlend, we need to stop his expansion first.¡±


    ¡°He is less established in Arthenun, too,¡± Pal pointed out. ¡°You need to test your tools and skills before confronting him in his strongholds.¡±


    ¡°Agreed,¡± Amir muttered.


    ¡°Alright,¡± Jerl nodded. ¡°That¡¯s what the Queen is doing. Meanwhile, the Rats, Lady Pal and Lady Dragon will establish their network of agents¡­what about you, your grace?¡±


    Ellaenie sighed. ¡°Much as part of me wishes I could come with you¡­my daughter needs me. And it¡¯s best not to advance one¡¯s king out into the center, anyway. You send out your queen instead.¡±


    ¡°Or my Queen,¡± Jerl chuckled.


    She smiled. ¡°Exactly. Besides¡­¡± Ellaenie glanced at Rheannach. ¡°¡­there is witchcraft to perform. We have our own ways of moving around unseen, don¡¯t you worry.¡±


    ¡°Alright. Well then, unless anyone else has any revelations to make, I think we have our opening moves.¡±


    Harad cleared his throat, loudly. ¡°You¡¯ve said nothing of who among us will have the duty of bearing the Words and their power,¡± he pointed out.


    ¡°Because that¡¯s not for us to decide,¡± Jerl told him. ¡°Weren¡¯t you listening to Prince Sayf? The Words have a will and agenda of their own, beyond even the Crowns¡¯ desires. We¡¯ll let them pick their own speakers, as circumstances permit. You can¡¯t plan everything, Hakatin.¡±


    ¡°Hrrm.¡± Harad grunted, ¡°You¡¯re assuming their agenda is benign. If you¡¯re correct, they inflicted Civorage on us in the first place.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll see, won¡¯t we?¡± Jerl replied. Harad shrugged, and remained silent. ¡°Is there anything else? Anything at all that anybody here wishes to add?¡±


    Silence.


    ¡°¡­In that case, we all know our roles. We¡¯ll begin our preparations.¡± Jerl stood, then looked around. A slow grin spread across his face. ¡°But first¡­we¡¯re on the Oasis. The court of the Crown of fun and beauty! That¡¯s an opportunity I¡¯m going to take. A night of fun! We drink, we dance, we feast, we live. And then we get to work in the morning.¡±


    ¡°Hear, hear!¡± Pal agreed, a split-second ahead of Derghan, and that was the start of a rousing cheer from several quarters. Jerl grinned as their meeting, their war council, whatever it was broke up in suitably anarchic fashion. Sayf or Pal or somebody must have foreseen this, because there were servants and musicians among them before the roar of approval had even faded away. Somebody struck up a dancing tune, somebody else handed Jerl a cup of wine.


    It felt like slipping on a ladder and thumping down it only to land nimbly on his feet. And who was he to refuse what he had himself only just proposed?


    He grinned, took a second cup of wine, handed it to Mouse, toasted¡­


    And, while the time was available to them, they lived.

 Chapter 12: Weapons

    <blockquote>


    ¡°You are dancing around a question that mortals often ask me: how do the Indefinite endure the constant pain of losing the mortals we care about? They imagine it must be impossible to form any connection with somebody who will, in our terms, be gone in hardly any time at all. But that is not how we feel about it! A lifetime is still a long time, to us. And in any case¡­how much less endurable would an indefinite life be, without the infinite joy and variety of people to care about?¡± ¡ªYngmir, Prince Ruber of Valai, Conversations With Heralds


    </blockquote>


    <h2>A surprisingly comfortable bed</h2>


    The Oasis, Alhulw Earthmote 09.06.03.10.01


    Jerl¡¯s first hangover, suffered long ago, had led him to question what was so great about alcohol anyway and vow never to afflict himself with another, though throughout the intervening years he¡¯d proven himself a liar many times over in that regard.


    He¡¯d gone to bed quite braced and willing to face the consequences of intense merry-making¡­but what he awoke to wasn¡¯t half as bad as he¡¯d anticipated. The liquors of the Oasis, it seemed, didn¡¯t poison a man¡¯s brains so painfully as more common brews.


    Still¡­he hadn¡¯t completely escaped a full-body tenderness in just the right amount to remind him there was a cost to levity. And his bladder was especially insistent. He rolled out of bed and slipped away to enjoy all the comforts of his guest suite¡­especially the indoor plumbing.


    Minutes later, and rather more comfortable, he was basking under a steady stream of hot water when long, tricky fingers slipped around his waist from behind.


    That was no trick of Mind. Mouse was just silent as a breeze when he wanted to be. He kissed Jerl¡¯s back and leaned into him.


    ¡°¡­Getting late.¡±


    ¡°How late?¡± Jerl asked.


    ¡°Nearly midday.¡±


    ¡°Hmm.¡± Jerl nodded, massaging around his eyes to rinse the crust of sleep out of them. ¡°Guess we¡¯re leaving after dark, then. It¡¯ll take all afternoon to get everything ready.¡±


    That had been the shape of the whole week, in fact: a pleasant cycle of working hard all day, playing hard all night. But today was the day all their hard work had been toward. Today, barring a sudden new development, they were leaving.


    It wasn¡¯t a pleasant thought.


    ¡°We should get started,¡± Mouse agreed. ¡°Or¡­¡±


    His hands slid lower.


    Jerl couldn¡¯t deny, it felt good. But¡­ ¡°¡­No. No, it¡¯s time. We can¡¯t bask here forever.¡±


    ¡°Aww.¡±


    Jerl chuckled. ¡°Last night wasn¡¯t enough?¡±


    Mouse sighed, and stepped around to get under the water as well. ¡°¡­I¡¯m kinda scared,¡± he confessed, tilting his head back to rinse his hair. ¡°I don¡¯t want to leave, yet.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t either.¡±


    ¡°But we¡¯d hate ourselves if we didn¡¯t, right?¡±


    ¡°Mhm.¡±


    They held each other for a bit. Then, by mutual unspoken agreement, it was time. They had an airship to prepare, a voyage to set out on, and no clear indication of how long it would be before they got back to a life where privacy, big beds and hot water were options.


    But the alternative was a life where those things were never options again.


    They got moving.


    <hr>


    There was a lot more to load into the Queen¡¯s hold than just provisions, though that was certainly most of the work. Barrels of stockfish, salt pork, dried peas, rice, beans, ship¡¯s biscuit, drinking water, rum, small beer, salt, spices, bacon, cheese, pemmican, citrus, dried bouillon, live hens and their feed, fuel, rifles, ammunition, leagues of rope and bagcloth, blankets and cold weather gear, climbing gear, mining equipment, barrels of charged magestones, nails, cooking charcoal, scrubbing sand, oil, spare clothes, bandages, medicinal alcohol¡­


    From Sayf¡¯s treasury came two boxes of gold bars, enough wealth to buy the Cavalier Queen twice over. In Jerl¡¯s cabin, a cunning leather-padded carrying case was full of dozens of little glass vials, each containing the silvery, turbid liquid that was Ellaenie¡¯s mind-shielding brew.


    And then there was Palasarli¡¯s gift. She had, with Jerl¡¯s thanks, taken it upon herself to direct the Oasis¡¯ craftsmen in giving the ship a makeover. Now, the bag was a handsome rich green, decorated to either sides with a swirling wind design in white, though she¡¯d kept the Antage bullet-bag shape. A little longer though, just for some extra lift.


    They extra lift was because Pal had also provided a dozen cannons taken from her own airship, the Wild Abandon. ¡°After all,¡± she pointed out, ¡°our foes still think the Queen is an unarmed merchant brig. A deck full of these should confound them enough that you won¡¯t need to fire them in anger for some time. Hopefully.¡±


    Jerl had to admit, her efforts had been thorough. The Queen¡¯s bare-breasted figurehead was still as she had always been, but her paint had been touched up beautifully, and the hull now bore a swirling decoration mirroring the one sewn into the bag. To Jerl, there was no mistaking his ship for any other, even with the guns on her deck. But to anyone who didn¡¯t know her¡­


    She definitely didn¡¯t match the description he¡¯d read back in the Oneist mansion, except in particulars so broad they applied to half the ships in the skies. And she looked good in royal green. Very suitable.


    Cannons, though! Jerl hoped that somewhere out there his dad¡¯s Shade was feeling a pang of triumph, wherever it was. The one thing Arneld Holten had lamented all through his career, as Jerl had, was that they¡¯d never quite got together the funds to properly arm the old girl. An airship without guns was a tragedy with a lit fuse, gift-wrapped for the pirates.


    Of course, an airship with guns but a crew who didn¡¯t know how to use them was scarcely better.


    Into the gap stepped Padrig ad Sulidhan. A brave, steady man who¡¯d stayed on through several tours with Jerl, stating confidently that private work for a free captain was far better than the life of a gunner¡¯s mate in the Craenen navies. He¡¯d been killed retaking the Queen at Long Drop from her impound that first time around, and he¡¯d stayed on at Mehoom, so Jerl had no doubts of his character, courage and loyalty.


    The way he whipped the R¨¹wyrdan elves into shape was straight out of Jerl¡¯s own playbook: mostly cajoling, good cheer and quick wit, with just enough stick behind it to get the point across. After two days of training, the elves had started figuring out how to use their war-magic to reload the guns in a blur, achieving times that would have satisfied even the grimmest naval veteran.


    Jerl¡¯s last business before casting off and setting sail was to promote him to gunnery chief. They followed the traditional ceremony for these things, beginning with a speech by the skipper extolling his virtues, a drink and round of cheers, the formal act of promotion, and finally a minor ritual humiliation in the form of shaving his head.


    Harad grumbled as he watched it unfold. ¡°Why is this necessary?¡± he asked Jerl, while Marren¡¯s razor scratched through the lather and hair. Padrig was bearing it in good cheer, smiling and joking.


    Jerl shrugged. ¡°I guess it reminds the promoted man to stay humble, and proves he can endure indignity and keep good humor?¡± He ventured. ¡°Mostly it¡¯s just tradition. We all went through it.¡±


    ¡°We could be underway by now. We should be.¡±


    ¡°Harad. I will accept your counsel on many things, but you don¡¯t know shit about airshipmen and their ways. Don¡¯t presume to tell me how to captain my crew,¡± Jerl told him, firmly.


    Harad grunted in a way that could equally have signalled displeasure or approval, folded his arms, and remained silent. After a few seconds he turned and prowled away down the deck to go do whatever it was he considered a more worthy use of his time.


    To Jerl¡¯s right, Derghan scoffed. ¡°Arrogant fucker. Almost a shame he¡¯s so handy with a sword.¡±


    ¡°Has he been bothering you?¡± Jerl asked.


    ¡°Nahh, he leaves me alone. I think engines intimidate him.¡± Derghan grinned faintly. ¡°He¡¯s just no fun.¡±


    ¡°Speaking of the engines¡ª¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re in perfect shape. Better¡¯n perfect! Some of the smiths on this mote are geniuses. I¡¯ve swapped out some worn parts with spares I could¡¯ve sworn I was gonna have to order from Keeghan & Sons. And instead, they made ¡®em here, but better!¡±


    ¡°Better how?¡±


    ¡°Any way you like. More finely worked, better metal¡­you name it. You¡¯ll see, our engines are in the best shape of their lives!¡± Derghan had an almost canine enthusiasm when discussing his work. Had he been fortunate enough to own a tail, it would have been beating merrily against the railing behind him.


    Jerl nodded, satisfied, and watched as Marren towelled off Padrig¡¯s newly gleaming scalp. There were some good-natured cheers, a few pats on the arms, and somebody handed him a rolled up woolly hat. Good.


    Time to be the skipper. He clapped his hands together so hard the sound cracked around the deck like a whip.


    ¡°Alright! We¡¯ve had our fun! Every man to his station, prepare to depart!¡±


    There were a few groans of the unserious variety, banter rather than dismay. In moments, the deck was busy. Derghan vanished below into the pump room, Marren and the riggers went aloft, Padrig patrolled the deck and checked their new guns were properly secured, Sin checked the hold. It was almost as quick and efficient as it had ever been, the elfish crew having grown much in confidence and knowledge these last few weeks.


    In short order, the word came back: ¡°Ready to release the bolt, captain!¡±


    ¡°Thank you, quartermaster.¡± Jerl approached the railing. Rarely had an airship been waved away by such an illustrious company as the one now waiting on the dock: Prince Sayf, Lady Pal, Lady Ellaenie, Rheannach and Dragon, Lander and little Saoirse...


    ¡°Release!¡± he called to the ground crew, and raised a hand in farewell. Sayf in particular echoed the gesture, and as he did so, the perfect gust swirled up out of nowhere to gently, ever-so-gently, nudge the Queen at the exact moment the locking bolt slid out and she was released, so that she lifted out of the cradle with nary a rattle nor a bump. It was the smoothest launch of Jerl¡¯s life, in fact.


    He grinned, bowed gratefully, and stepped away from the railing as Gebby spun the wheel and turned them toward open sky. Already, he could feel his feet adjusting their step to meet the sway of the deck. Already, he could feel the breeze in his hair as the engines spun up and pushed them away. He was back in the sky. And as wonderful as the Oasis was¡­the sky was where he belonged.


    The smile didn¡¯t leave his face all afternoon.


    <hr>


    <blockquote>


    ¡°We are all storm-tossed. Even the big four. Perhaps especially them. They are powerful, yes, but weather that would blow cozily around a hovel and soothe a man to sleep can be the doom of an airship¡­¡± ¡ªThe Shishah, quoted by Prince Ruber of Valai, Conversations With Heralds


    </blockquote>


    <h2>A different departure</h2>


    The Oasis, Alhulw Earthmote 09.06.03.10.02


    Ellaenie¡¯s own adventure was necessarily delayed by one important consideration: her daughter didn¡¯t want her to go, and was willing to deploy tears.


    Little Saoirse already had a witch¡¯s talent for manipulation, surely. At least, she did as far as her mother was concerned. And the fact was, Ellaenie didn¡¯t much want to leave her for long either. But there were two important tasks to perform. One she¡¯d been putting off for nearly five years, and another that had only arisen in the last week.


    Now, it seemed, she must expose herself to some danger.


    Not much. Ellaenie didn¡¯t chafe under the idea she was too important to risk unnecessarily, and she wasn¡¯t reckless enough to put herself in harm¡¯s way without good reason and without reasonable certainty that the danger was minimal. But there were some things she was arguably the best-equipped person in the world to handle, and when they came up¡­


    She gave little Saoirse a squeeze and a kiss. ¡°I¡¯ll bring you back something nice, okay?¡±


    Saoirse nodded, brave now that her distress and tears had been recognized but calmly withstood. She clung to Pal¡¯s leg¡ªPal had always been a second mother to her, right from the moment she¡¯d been there to talk Ellaenie through the birth and hold her hand¡ªand squeaked out a ¡®¡®kay.¡¯


    Good enough. Ellaenie gave her little girl a squeeze and a kiss then rose to shoulder her bag. A moment¡¯s eye contact with Pal was all they needed to share¡­


    If anything should happen¡ª


    Pal nodded, reassuringly, resting a hand lightly on Saoirse¡¯s back, and that was enough. Ellaenie had no doubts, even if the very worst should happen, Saoirse would be loved with a full and generous heart.


    Still, her own heart was heavy as she gave them both a smile, hefted her bag into place, and headed out with further promises of returning soon.


    Rheannach and Sayf were waiting in the hall outside.


    ¡°How is she?¡± Sayf asked.


    ¡°I think some time with her daddy would help,¡± Ellaenie ventured.


    ¡°I was planning on doing that anyway,¡± he chuckled, then trailed off and took her hands with surprising seriousness. ¡°¡­Do be careful.


    Ellaenie kissed him. ¡°I promise.¡±


    ¡°Good¡­That goes for you too,¡± he added, looking to Rheannach.


    ¡°I¡¯ll keep us both safe,¡± Rheannach promised him. ¡°We¡¯ll be gone at the first sign of danger.¡±


    He nodded, exhaled, then spread his hands. ¡°¡­Go, then. And tell us all about it when you get back.¡±


    Ellaenie smiled at him, tightened her pack¡¯s strap around her waist, and nodded to Rheannach. Without any further word, they turned and headed out.


    There was precious little that was natural on Alhulw Earthmote. Certainly, nothing was wild here. It was the one area where Ellaenie could find anything to criticize her husband¡¯s otherwise infinite sense of aesthetics, was that he seemed to have a blind spot for the beauty of untamed, unmanaged, ungroomed nature. A strange ommission, considering that he was exceptionally good at cultivating just the right amount of ungroomed, unmanaged and untamed in himself.


    Or perhaps it was a deliberate omission, so as not to tread on territory that was E?rrach¡¯s. Whatever the truth, nearly all of Alhulw was parkland, orchard and groomed garden. In such circumstances, the Pathways were¡­reluctant.


    Ellaenie certainly couldn¡¯t find them. Even Rheannach¡¯s powers were stretched, and they had to hike deep into the far end of Sayf¡¯s bucolic demesnes before they finally found the thread she needed. She tugged on it with a little tweak of the craft, led Ellaenie between a mossy stone and a tree, and¡ª


    ¡ªEllaenie¡¯s eyes had to adjust to sudden night-time darkness, and the wind changed. It was blowing from a different direction now, far cooler, and carried on it not only a completely different repertoir of bird calls, but also the cool moist scent and rushing noise of a nearby waterfall, and the nightly concert of frogs, birds and insects.


    They were back on Garanhir. She felt it in her bones, instantly and keenly and to a shocking degree. Even though their surroundings were nothing like Auldenheigh city, the thought that she was now closer to home than she¡¯d been in eight years hammered her heartstrings like a dulcimer. Life in the oasis had kept homesickness at bay. Now, unanticipated, it stopped her in her tracks.


    ¡°¡­Ellie?¡± Rheannach gave her a concerned look.


    Ellaenie gathered herself. ¡°I¡­sorry. Yes.¡± She cleared her throat. ¡°Where are we?¡±


    ¡°Cantre. About sixty miles sinister of Antage. Exactly where I intended us to be.¡± Rheannach allowed herself a small, satisfied grin that verged on the smug, then turned and pointed. ¡°The Tredmothfa should be about two miles that way.¡±


    ¡°Should be?¡± Ellaenie arched an eyebrow at her friend, Mother and mentor.


    ¡°Is.¡±


    She led the way, but Ellaenie gasped and paused again to stare in wonder as soon as they¡¯d rounded the shoulder of a tree and she laid eyes on the waterfall.


    It wasn¡¯t high, nor was it carrying much water, being just a stream coming straight down off the mountains. But here, in one of the spots where those who knew how could twist space and step between earthmotes, it pooled to rest briefly in its headlong sprint toward the edge. Fireflies danced and flashed at each other over the swirling, clear water.


    Somebody, some hundreds of years ago, had carved a large rock into the shape of a bearded, horned head, and redirected the stream so it gushed out of the effigy¡¯s open mouth. Ages of flowing water had eroded the sculpture so that it yawned far wider than the original vision, and left slimy moss intertwined with his carven beard, but the effect was still striking. Ancient humans had known this place was special.


    ¡°Are all the pathways like this?¡±


    ¡°Oh, yes. They¡¯re always somewhere beautiful, sacred or striking. Your husband claims credit for that one,¡± Rheannach smiled and dipped a hand in the pool to stir it and enjoy the cool water on her skin.


    ¡°Mm. It¡¯s his sort of touch.¡± Ellaenie smiled fondly. She¡¯d surprised herself with how quickly she¡¯d fallen in love with Sayf, though in truth she¡¯d loved the idea of him from a young age. When she came to read the Aphorisms, his passages had always been the ones that seized her most intensely.


    Well, who was going to claim a fondness for beautiful things was a vice? She admired the location a moment longer, hoped they¡¯d come back this way when they left, or better yet that the next one was just as gorgeous, and followed Rheannach down a narrow run of slightly deer-trodden earth alongside the stream that couldn¡¯t qualify for the word ¡°track.¡±


    Once again, the woods made way for them. This time, though, it was Ellaenie¡¯s doing. The gentle art of persuading wild plants to let them pass unhindered, where they might otherwise have been tripped by root and snagged by thorn, was one of her weaker skills. There was precious little opportunity to practice it at the Oasis, so she took the opportunity now.


    The trick she¡¯d found that worked for her was to imagine herself as a breeze, briefly disturbing the still air of the forest but leaving no clear trace of her coming and going. The boughs would bend and let her flow through, then return to their sleep without ever having woken to notice the human blundering through.


    Not that Ellaenie blundered, any more. All those courtly dance lessons had helped her learn the lightness of step that characterized a witch in nature.


    Between these two tricks and a few others, they may as well have been striding on broad, level pavement rather than picking their way through the woods. In somewhat less than an hour, they climbed a small rise, and suddently the Tredmothfa was at their feet, at the bottom of a four-foot bank supported by a retaining wall of cemented stones in a random assortment of shapes and sizes.


    The road itself was as ancient as Auldenheigh. The word Tredmothfa literally meant something like ¡°path-edge-significant¡± in Elvish, and for uncountable centuries before the airships¡¯ advent, it had been the main route by which new arrivals on Garanhir disembarked from the Wandering Isles that stuck to the mote¡¯s leading edge, and continued their journey on foot, dexterward to Crown Pass and Enerlend.


    Nowadays, it served as the major artery by which wains laden with timber, rope and other supplies for the shipyards in Antage rolled down from the lumber plantations and workshops elsewhere in the duchy. Cantre¡¯s people had been quick to recognize that the rise of airships spelled doom for their traditional way of life, and thus their only option was to either embrace the new technology fiercely, or else suffer a long and ignominious death by irrelevance.


    The road as they¡¯d maintained it was a straight, wide artery of flat, level and foot-friendly cobble, helpfully milestoned and signposted, and Ellaenie smiled as the first of these signposts was in view from the moment they helped each other down the bank and onto the ancient road.


    It was quite a nice sign, actually. A red oval on a green vine proudly advertised the Rosehip Inn, just two miles away toward Antage.


    ¡°So this is where Jerl grew up¡­¡± Rheannach commented, looking around. To their right a few hundred yards away was Garanhir¡¯s leading edge, plunging into the open sky. To their left, the deep forest. ¡°Very pretty.¡±


    Ellaenie, however, had an eye to the open sky. And she didn¡¯t much like the look of those clouds one bit. ¡°Yes,¡± she agreed. ¡°Let¡¯s hope it¡ª¡±


    The first spit of rain stopped her mid thought. She sighed, unslung her pack, and pulled out her leather rain cape. It seemed they were in for a wet Garanese welcome after all.


    Just like home.


    She had to chuckle.


    The road clung to the edge cliff at a respectful distance, meaning it wasn¡¯t straight. It looped back and forth, rolled over rises in the terrain, so that even through the white noise of the steady rain that came in on them, they heard the inn sooner than they saw it. The regular ring of a blacksmith¡¯s hammer served as well as a chapel bell for signalling that civilization was close, and when they simultaneously rounded a bend and crested a roll, they found themselves with an excellent view of Jerl¡¯s childhood home, its many lanterns glowing invitingly in the rainy night.


    The Rosehip Inn, Ellaenie assessed, must have started life as a modest rest stop for travelers on the Tredmothfa, some indeterminate number of years ago. She could see visible seams in its brickwork where later generations had expanded and added to it, with no regard for matching the architecture to what was already there. The oldest heart of it was a high dome, like a huge pottery oven or an oversized bee skep, atop a narrow sweep of stairs overlooked by narrow archery windows which suggested the original creators had periodically needed to defend it from assault.


    The later expansions were variously boxy and rounded, though none were as fortified as the original, and indeed the modern entrance was at ground level and gave the impression that the doors would be thrown wide in more clement weather. The overall impression was cozily anarchic. This was a living place, the story of a family written in mismatched and often uneven stonework.


    Ellaenie fell in love with it almost immediately.


    The previously-heard smithy was at the far side of the yard, under a tiled roof from which the rain streamed in thick glittering ropes. Within, a burly farrier whose broad shoulders, bronzed skin and dark hair were all very Jerl-like spared them a glance and a nod of greeting as he tucked a draught horse¡¯s hoof between his knees to shoe it. The owner, presumably, was indoors enjoying the inn¡¯s hospitality.


    So far, all seems normal, Rheannach mused.


    Ellaenie agreed; she smiled at the farrier, then hurried on across the yard and into the welcome shelter of an awning where she could shake off the worst of the water from her cloak and boots before entering.


    Encouragingly, there had been no trace of mental domination or glamer about the man. Meaning, the worst-case scenario Jerl had feared for his family had not come true at least. Still, they had to remain on guard. All it would take was a single Circle member recognizing them, and things could go wrong rather quickly.


    Inside, the inn was abustle with a large group of travelers, the core of whom had the look of the successful middle class. There was something about dark, serious, well-made clothing that spoke of serious wealth, and the air that hovered over them as they spoke was of intense business. These were men with some project they were most enthusiastic about, conversing in hushed but excited tones about how to make it happen. The words ¡¯engines¡¯ and ¡¯railway¡¯ occasionally drifted out of their intense huddle.


    Nothing alarming there. No hint of the Circle, either.


    Before Ellaenie could take in anybody else, a girl of perhaps sixteen years popped up, her red hair tied back under a white bonnet and her hands newly scrubbed. ¡°Hello, hello, welcome to the Rosehip Inn! Come in, let¡¯s get you a spot by the fire so you can dry off¡ª¡±


    Ellaenie smiled at her, and focused the Sight. Once again, she found the lass clear and untouched by Mind¡¯s influence. Good.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± she said aloud.


    ¡°Not at all! Let me just get a few more logs on here for you¡­¡± the girl bustled a little more firewood into the flames, gave it a poke and a prod to settle things properly, then took their cloaks and bade them sit down. She clucked and fussed over them like a rather older woman for a couple minutes, talked them into some fresh bread and a hot drink apiece, informed them that her name was Briggit and that she¡¯d come running if they called, and left them to enjoy the peaceful aftermath of a whirl of hospitality.


    Ellaenie was more than happy to curl up, bask in the glow off the crackling wood, and resume looking around again.


    The word ¡°cozy¡± had been invented to describe inns like this, she decided. The walls were decorated with the trophies of generations, from paintings to brass oddities, an infantryman¡¯s rifle and dirk hung on the wall behind the bar, a carved wooden fish, some decorative plates hung up in the ceiling beams, a rather spectacular set of antlers¡­


    Pride of place, though, belonged to a painting of the Cavalier Queen which dominated the wall above the fireplace. You had to know the Queen to identify it was her, of course, but Ellaenie knew that figurehead¡­and she recognized Jerl in the photograph hung beside it. He was young in that photo, maybe fifteen or sixteen years old, posing easily alongside an older version of himself that could only be his late father Arneld.


    ¡°Handsome ship, ain¡¯t she?¡± Briggit commented, returning with bread, butter and two hot toddies. She pointed to the photograph. ¡°That¡¯s my cousin on the right. He captains her!¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s a handsome specimen himself,¡± Rheannach commented with a chuckle.


    ¡°Hmm, true. He¡¯s a bit older now, though. It¡¯s been a few years since I last saw ¡®im.¡± Briggit dusted her hands off. ¡°Now, you¡¯re a bit late for supper, I¡¯m sorry, but I¡¯ve got cold cuts and soup I can bring out. When you want to retire for the night, I¡¯ve got a few choices where to put you¡­¡±


    Ellaenie took out her purse, having already glanced at the prices on a chalkboard above the bar. She thumbed out a couple of guild silvers. ¡°We¡¯ll take the private suite, please. And soup and cold cuts sounds ideal.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll have it aired out and warmed for you, ma¡¯am,¡± Briggit bobbed as she took the coin and bustled away again.


    ¡°Well. they run a damn good inn,¡± Rheannach commented. Her eyes roved over the other patrons, narrowed briefly, then returned to Ellaenie¡¯s face. ¡°But you were right.¡±


    ¡°Where?¡±


    This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.


    ¡°Behind you. The little reading alcove. Older man, reading a newspaper.¡± She planted the image of what she had seen and the impression she¡¯d read in the front of Ellaenie¡¯s mind. The man looked entirely harmless, in fact: just an old, bent figure in his seventies or eighties, with kindly eyes and a flop of limp white hair above a matching beard. But he reeked of the Circle.


    ¡°Has he guessed who we are yet?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t imagine he can have¡­¡± Rheannach shook her head as she sat back to sip her hot drink, and lowered her voice another notch. ¡°Civorage has no reason to be subtle. If he knew we were here, he¡¯d attack us through his agent, immediately.¡±


    Ellaenie nodded grimly, slipped one of her potion vials from a pocket, and reflected gladly on her months of experimentation as she drank. The brew had technically been effective at its most important task for years, but the first incarnation had been¡­zesty. Bitter enough to hurt the mouth, followed by a kick of too-sweet cloying the back of the tongue. Utterly impossible to disguise by adding it to food or drink, even if doing so wouldn¡¯t have denatured its effects.


    The new masterpiece had no such problems. It washed across the tongue with only a faint sour tang, like milk on the cusp of turning. But no sooner had it touched her palate than she felt its effects sweep her mind in a way that, even as its creator, she still found remarkable. Focus and clarity became immediate, sharp, automatic, hard. It felt rather like seeing the world through a crystal lens that could zoom in to pick out any detail with crisp immediacy. At the same time, her nagging tension and worries became quiet. Not absent, but¡­rather than crawling through her back and brain, distracting her, they simply reported the possible hazards in a matter-of-fact way then stilled, like obedient hounds awaiting their master¡¯s whistle.


    Opposite her, Rheannach drank a dose as well. With their minds now shielded against the power of the Circle, the experiment could begin. They met each others¡¯ gaze, then Ellaenie nodded and stood.


    She intercepted Briggit near the bar. The girl smiled at her and then went oddly vacant as Ellaenie exerted the Craft. This was why witches were so feared on Garanhir, and frankly for good reason. Bewitchment genuinely was a morally uncomfortable power to have, not least because it smacked so closely of Civorage¡¯s own domination and enslavement.


    ¡°What can I do for you, ma¡¯am?¡± Briggit asked. her voice had gone high, soft and dreamy.


    Ellaenie handed her a potion vial, maintaining eye contact. ¡°Add the contents of this vial to a bowl of soup and give it to the old man with the white beard in the reading nook,¡± she instructed, keeping her voice low and conversation like she was doing nothing more than asking where she might find the outhouse. ¡°You will forget that I asked you to do this. Forget that you added anything to the soup. It will seem like your own idea, just the hospitable thing to do.¡±


    ¡°This¡­doesn¡¯t feel right¡­¡± Briggit answered, sleepily. ¡°Feels¡­dishonest.¡±


    Ellaenie was impressed: Briggit could only be thirteen or fourteen years old, but she had some iron in her core that pushed back against the bewitchment. She redoubled her will, pouring power into her glamer, making herself seem as trustworthy and caring as humanly possible. ¡°I know. But it¡¯s for his own good, I promise.¡±


    It worked. The girl nodded distractedly and took the vial. ¡°Okay¡­¡±


    Ellaenie relaxed the spell. ¡°Briggit? Could you point me to the outhouse?¡± she asked, as though the girl had been distracted and not noticed her.


    ¡°Huh¡ªoh! Oh, I¡¯m so sorry, I was¡­I was miles away.¡± Briggit frowned at herself, then cleared her throat. ¡°Uh, it¡¯s, just through that door out the back there, and turn left. We¡¯ve got hot water out there too, from the vat over the wood stove.¡±


    ¡°Thank you,¡± Ellaenie smiled at her and slipped away.


    She took her time outside, listening while Rheannach kept her updated on the goings-on inside the inn. First, Briggit fetched their cold meat and soup, then she vanished into the kitchen for a little longer than usual. When she emerged, she delivered a bowl of soup to the Oneist in a distracted way, as though not quite paying attention.


    Ellaenie went back indoors just as Rheannach reported the man had shrugged and decided not to waste the unexpected free meal. They sat together and discreetly watched him sup.


    The moment the potion started to work on him was quite plain. He blinked, shook his head slightly as though a fly had buzzed past his ear. Then sat back and looked around him quite sharply, as though seeing the inn properly for the first time and not knowing how he¡¯d come to be there. Ellaenie watched his face, trying to read his mood.


    This was the purpose for which they¡¯d come here. Or at least, half of it. Jerl¡¯s fretting about his family had given Ellaenie the idea that here was where they would most likely be able to find a Oneist agent, one of the circle whom they could break free. In doing so, maybe they¡¯d be able to keep Jerl¡¯s family safe so he wouldn¡¯t have to worry about that, maybe they¡¯d provoke Civorage into doing something they could exploit, maybe they¡¯d gain an ally and insight into the circle¡­


    All of those were the arguments she¡¯d come up with. But the honest, real reason was she needed to see what leaving the Circle was like. Whether¡­whether he¡¯d be grateful for his rescue, or¡­


    ¡­Whether there was any hope of ever rescuing Lisze.


    The despair, hope, sorrow and anticipation woven tight in that tought threatened to overwhelm even her potion-reinforced focus, until Rheannach squeezed her hand to steady her. This was the great unanswered question about Civorage¡¯s thralls. They¡¯d gleaned from careful observation that the Circles lived in a state of perpetual communal bliss, their life an endless cycle of backbreaking toil without respite or room for any expression of personality. They just worked, communed, and worked again until it was time to go to sleep¡­or time to dutifully have assigned sex to produce new children for the collective.


    They¡¯d been reduced to human bees. But the worst part was, this life of slavery and both mental and physical rape was ¡°rewarded¡± with blissful happiness. And that raised the question of whether they would even want to be free. Whether they would accept or whether, given the choice¡­


    Whether they¡¯d prefer to be worker bees.


    Over on the other table, the old man raised his wrinkled, arthritic hands to stare at them then, very slowly, covered his eyes with them and started to choke out huge, wracking sobs. It was such a huge emotion that Ellanie couldn¡¯t even tell whether he was weeping for loss or weeping for relief.


    She couldn¡¯t bear to observe any longer. She rose up, darted across the room, and sank down next to the old man to take his hands and comfort him. ¡°Are you¡ª?¡±


    Wild, beetle-dark eyes shone at her from behind his leathery palms. The sight of her face calmed and slowed him, steadied him. after a second, he croaked out four words.


    ¡°¡­Did you do this?¡±


    Ellaenie, poised on a knife-edge to flee, nodded slowly.


    His hands clasped hers and squeezed as the tears flowed freely down his cheeks, now. ¡°Oh! Crowns! Thank you! Thank you!!¡± He surged up with surprising speed and strength for such a seeming geriatric and hugged her tight, catching her despite how ready she¡¯d thought she was to evade him. ¡°Oh, Raksuul! I was¡ª! I couldn¡¯t¡ª! They didn¡¯t even¡ª!¡±


    The entire tavern had gone silent to watch this extraordinary outburst, Ellaenie noted distractedly.


    She rubbed the old man¡¯s back. ¡°What¡¯s your name?¡± she asked.


    His hyperventilating slowed. ¡°¡­Dennis. Dennis Beck.¡±


    ¡°Come on, Dennis. Let¡¯s sit down.¡±


    He pulled away from her, giving Ellaenie a clear look at his face. She held the witch-sight so tightly and so focused that it fairly hummed, but¡­no. The Circle was broken. Nothing of it lingered, suggesting even once the potion¡¯s effects faded, he¡¯d still be free of it.


    So far, she had cause for hope. But not triumph. She wouldn¡¯t allow herself that, yet.


    As she led Dennis to their table by the fire and sat him down, a new man strode into the room, bursting in so immediately that Ellaenie had a brief surge of danger-sense. But when she glanced at him it faded again. He was no Circle member, just an inn¡¯s landlord concerned over a commotion in his bar¡­and there was no doubt that here was Jerl¡¯s uncle. He had the same bronzed skin (though heavily lined) the same dark hair (though long gone on top) and the same straight, sharp nose (rhough rather larger.) He was also a head taller than Jerl, and in his prime must have been built like a beef bull. Thick black brows scowled at them as he paused, assessing the situation¡­


    Then dark, shrewd eyes met Ellaenie¡¯s and his scowl deepened further. Suspicion. And worse; Recognition.


    Ellaenie lifted her chin defiantly. Come and confront me, then.


    There was a long pause. Then he vanished behind the bar to pour a whiskey.


    It turned out not to be for himself, but for Dennis, who was still grappling with the traumatic business of suddenly being himself again when Jerl¡¯s uncle set the stiff drink down in front of him. ¡°Here.¡±


    ¡°Oh¡­bless you.¡± Dennis took the drink up and knocked back quite a lot of it. his hand shook as he set the glass down.


    ¡°You must be Baris Holten,¡± Ellaenie said, softly.


    He folded two thick and hairy arms at her. ¡°And you must be the witch duchess.¡±


    ¡°True.¡± Ellaenie managed to ask him what he was going to do about it just by inflection. Mercifully, he¡¯d kept his tone too low for eavesdropping, for now.


    ¡°Missing these eight years. And now, here at my inn, bewitching my paying guests.¡±


    ¡°Reversing a bewitchment, in fact.¡±


    He gave Dennis a sharply questioning look, to which the old man nodded fervently. Baris rumbled thoughtfully deep in his chest, then jerked his head sharply toward a side door.


    ¡°Your rooms¡¯re ready. Best talk there, I think.¡±


    ¡°Thank you.¡±


    He grunted, ¡°hrrm,¡± and stepped aside to open the door and led them out into the garth behind the main building, where a lantern-hung oak of prodigious size did quite a lot to stop the rain from blowing in under the cloisters. Their destination was a small cottage suite at one corner, and Baris grumbled into his beard as he opened the door and found the suite cold.


    ¡°Damn the girl. Fire¡¯s not lit, beds ain¡¯t been warmed¡­¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not her fault,¡± Ellaenie told him. ¡°I confess to a¡­small¡­bit of magic there.¡±


    Indignant fury flashed in the big man¡¯s eyes. ¡°That¡¯s my granddaughter, witch!¡±


    Ellaenie held her ground. ¡°I know. But it¡¯s all for a good reason, as I will explain if you will allow me.¡±


    ¡°Or I could lock you in ¡®ere and send for the sheriff.¡±


    Ellaenie considered him a moment, then sat down. ¡°Your nephew is worried for you,¡± she said. When Baris¡¯ scowl reached new depths and his arms fairly creaked with tension, she hastened to explain. ¡°I count Jerl a friend and comrade, if that counts for anything.¡±


    ¡°It might, if you¡¯re honest. Though I haven¡¯t seen the lad in three years,¡± Baris retorted. ¡°A lot can happen in that time. ¡®Specially where witchcraft¡¯s involved.¡±


    He was clinging to his indignation the same way a man might cling to a walking stick when he thought he was surrounded by wolves, Ellaenie judged. But he didn¡¯t really want to have to strike out¡­


    ¡°He¡¯s well,¡± she said, evenly. ¡°He¡¯d have come himself, but he was so afraid for you he didn¡¯t dare.¡±


    Baris¡¯s frown didn¡¯t shift an inch. ¡°Afraid, you say.¡±


    ¡°You and your family are in danger. A danger against which I can protect you in ways that he cannot¡­but tell me, Mister Holten. Are you a Crowns-honoring man?¡±


    He tipped his head slightly, either in curiosity or confirmation. ¡°Of course. Hold ¡®em dear an¡¯ respect the Aphorisms, always have.¡±


    Ellaenie glanced at Rheannach, who smiled, and rose to her feet. There was a heavy, rushing noise like a down duvet being shaken, and her scintillating magpie wings stretched clear across the room as she stretched them out with a roll and shrug of her shoulders.


    Baris¡¯ scowl vanished like raindrops on a skillet. His mouth worked open and shut a couple of times, fish-like, and then he tried to effect some kind of respectful bow or nod or something and succeeded only in stumbling. ¡°I¡ªMilady Herald! I¡­I never thought I¡¯d¡ªI mean¡­.!¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s quite alright,¡± Rheannach assured him, and pulled her wings back in. She favored the equally stunned Dennis with a smile, and sat down by the log stove, which she lit with a snap of her fingers. ¡°Ellaenie is my coven-Maiden, and spouse to Prince Sayf. You have my word as Raksuul, liberator and keeper of a safe hearth to all slaves, that she is no more evil than you are, and that all the terrible things whispered about her across Garanhir are the vicious lies of her enemies. Does my word suffice for you?¡±


    ¡°I¡ªof course!¡± Baris stammered ¡°But I mean¡­begging your pardon, like, but bewitching my granddaughter is still¡ª¡±


    ¡°I know,¡± Ellaenie said, by way of an apology. ¡°I hope it counts for something if I promise you that I did not do it lightly, or without good cause.¡±


    ¡°What cause, then? What danger are we supposedly in?¡±


    ¡°Me,¡± Dennis said, so softly it was barely louder than the voice of the stove beginning to roar.


    ¡°You? Mister Beck, you¡¯ve been a good payin¡¯ guest, and a quiet and neat one at that, these past several weeks. I figured you were just a moneyed man looking to retire somewhere nice away from the crowds and cities.¡±


    ¡°No¡­no.¡± Dennis shook his head. ¡°No, I was¡­up until just now, I was¡­not myself. I was the¡­.the puppet of¡­look, Mister Holten, whatever the duchess did to your granddaughter, I promise you, it wasn¡¯t half so terrible as what she just freed me from. There wasn¡¯t enough of me left to even be dismayed by it.


    Baris watched the old man. His brows had, by now, met in a dense knot at the middle. Quite abruptly, all the tension fled him and he pulled up a chair which creaked as he lowered himself into it.


    ¡°I think you¡¯d best start from the beginning,¡± he said.


    Ellaenie had to resist the urge to let her grim humor show on her face, lest he think she was mocking him.


    ¡°I think you¡¯ll find,¡± she said instead, ¡°that that¡¯s easier said than done¡­¡±


    <hr>


    <h2>Interlude: A public show of mercy</h2>


    Auldenheigh, Enerlend, Garanhir Earthmote 09.06.03.10.02


    Reaching the point of being able to go out in public and pretend to be one of the working class had taken Adrey a long time. Eight years ago, she¡¯d thought the difference was just cheaper clothes and a lack of education.


    How times had changed. How she had changed. Eight years of study, and the role of Jessa the soldier¡¯s wife still was one of several she could put on and take off like a coat¡­but it would never be one she found natural or comfortable. There were so many nuances of accent, outlook, behaviour¡­.people were fractal, and deep. To become somebody else in full, you would have to have lived their life, from birth. Impossible. She would always, in her core, be Adrey Mossjoy, Countess of Whitcairn, Dame Celebrant of the Most Wonderful Order of the Rose.


    But the Order of the Rose was a knightly order for artists, actors, architects, musicians, poets, women of fashion and patrons of the arts. And Adrey had discovered in herself quite a talent for acting, these last eight years.


    She moved through the crowd in complete anonymity. Just another bonneted head among thousands, gathered to enjoy the spectacle of a public confession.


    A hundred years ago, there had been a guillotine at the top of those steps. Such public executions, Adrey knew from her history lessons, had been something of a public event. People would come out to enjoy the spectacle, stay for the street food and music. Ellaenie¡¯s grandfather had made himself quite unpopular by putting an end to that. Executions had become limited affairs, performed out of public view except for a few officials and family members. But Ellaenie and her parents had upheld the policy.


    Now, under Duke Dencan of House Linavan¡ªor more accurately, under the rule of the Oneists who¡¯d installed him and to whose Circle he firmly belonged¡ªexecution had been replaced entirely with public confession and contrition. Which was why, in front of all the gathered people, the day¡¯s criminal penitent, one Edwalader Roth, was on his knees in sackcloth, confessing to and repenting of a litany of crimes.


    Adrey wondered how much of it was true. And, to judge by the commentary in the crowd, so did many others.


    ¡°¡¯Ee, we¡¯re in dark times. Witches in the palace an¡¯ criminals in the streets¡­¡± one womans commenting to her friend as Adrey¡¯s patrol orbited her past. She was a red-faced creature, so round in the belly and bosom that her dress may as well have been draped over a huge plum pudding, and she was sharing a bag of sweets with a much shorter, much skinnier biddy who shot the penitent Roth a tired look.


    ¡°What¡¯s ¡®e say ¡®e did? Smugglin¡¯? Don¡¯t see ¡®ow that¡¯s a crime,¡± said she. ¡°Toffs¡¯ve got enough money anyway, let t¡¯ common ¡®av us comforts, I says.¡±


    ¡°Aye, ¡®tis all trumped up,¡± Adrey interjected, swinging easily into the same outer-city accent as them. ¡°I ¡®eard as ¡®ow ¡®e t¡¯worst ¡®e was doin¡¯ was puttin¡¯ up graffiti on t¡¯ Circle ¡®ouse walls.¡±


    This, in fact, was true.


    ¡°Lot¡¯s o¡¯ graffiti about,¡± the littly skinny one told her friend. ¡°All them black birds on the walls. You seen ¡®em?¡±


    ¡°Aye. Folks say as it¡¯s meant to be a magpie. For Rheannach,¡± Adrey added.


    The fat woman frowned, her mind clearly torn between approval of the Heralds in general, and disapproval of graffiti on principle. She refocused her attention on the kneeling penitent and sucked thoughtfully on a humbug.


    ¡°Well¡­¡¯e shouldn¡¯t ought ¡®ta be drawin¡¯ on walls,¡± she declared, after deep contemplation. Adrey nearly broke character to sigh, but the woman¡¯s shorter companion was sharper in more than just looks.


    ¡°Mebbe not. But in¡¯t it funny ¡®ow ¡®e went from drawin¡¯ magpies for t¡¯ Beloved, an¡¯ now ¡®es such a pious Oneist? I wonder what they done at ¡®im? ¡®As ¡®e been beaten?¡±


    ¡°Dun¡¯t look like it¡­I dunno. Mebbe ¡®e just ¡®ad a change of ¡®eart?¡±


    ¡°Mebbe¡­¡± the shorter, sharper woman looked skeptical.


    Judging that she¡¯d sown the right amount of doubt for this moment, Adrey slipped away among the crowd.


    That had been her role, these last eight years: to push back. Pour poison in ears, unsettle people. Never let the Oneists get away with an unchallenged moral majority. And people, even ones as simple as the lady with the sweets, were not actually stupid. They knew something was off about all this.


    Up on the gallows, the public penitence reached its conclusion as Roth was lifted to his feet and granted the soft white robes to change into, signifying that he had taken the first step and could now continue his redemption by joining a Circle and working for the betterment of others. Adrey kept her grimace off her face. She¡¯d seen what Circle life was like. She¡¯d seen¡­


    She¡¯d seen Lisze, from afar through a telescope. She¡¯d been toiling in a vegetable garden with a dopey blissful smile on her face that spoke of no thoughts, no life, no personality going on behind her glazed eyes. She¡¯d been showing the signs of pregnancy, too. Reduced to a breeding sow, and so brainwashed she couldn¡¯t even be upset about it.


    Adrey had taken to wearing a vamdraech after seeing that. To the others, she defended it as a way of keeping her sensitive knowledge secret if the Oneists whould capture her, but they all knew the truth: if there was one fear that knotted Adrey¡¯s belly more than any other, it was the idea of joining Lisze in the circle. Better anything than that. For an honest truth, she feared the Circle even more than she feared being Shade-taken. But she had long since decided that her course in life was to fight what she feared, however she could. And soon, she hoped, she would get her chance to do something more damaging than just spread whispers in the crowd.


    Soon. If Ellaenie¡¯s last message was correct, her weapon would soon be ready. And then¡­


    She pushed the thought of Lisze aside and turned back to the task in hand. There were still plenty of penitents waiting their turn to lament their failings and take the white. There were still a lot of ears who needed to hear some doubt.


    Still a lot of work to do. Sometimes it felt like trying to bail out the Blue Sea with a bucket. But Dragon said they were having an effect, slowing things down, creating openings.


    And if Adrey had faith in anything, it was in the Heralds.


    She slipped through the crowd, sowing discord as she went.


    She just hoped the chance to act would come soon.


    <hr>


    <blockquote>


    All language is derived from the First Language, which the Crowns granted knowledge of to the First People on the First Day. Modern Feydh is believed to differ only a little from this ancient tongue, as the long memories of elves have preserved it. ¡ªElas Kenvayada Molosi, Tongues.


    </blockquote>


    <h2>Out in the open sky</h2>


    The airship Cavalier Queen, en route to St¨®rsteinn 09.06.03.10.02


    For once, the Queen¡¯s deck was silent.


    Or, more accurately, the only sounds were the kind of quiet, inanimate ones that were far more tranquil than mere silence. They¡¯d found a good air current headed their way, and so Derghan had spun the engines down to idle, taking away their background hum. Normally there would have been the thrum and whistle of wind through the rigging, but that too was absent as the ship ran along with the wind. And they were much too far out for cliff-birds to chase them.


    Low conversation, the creak of ropes, and the occasional hissing sound and scrape of metal from the cast iron caboose that signalled a good lobscouse for supper. To most, it might have been comforting to the point of soporific, but Jerl was still adjusting to the way his new cannons had altered the ship¡¯s sounds. Their gentle shifting with the deck¡¯s roll were a whole new noise. Welcome, but not yet part of the familiar.


    Nor too was the fact that many of the voices he could hear talking quietly across the deck were doing so had elvish accents. But gratifyingly, there were no groups of R¨¹wyrdan sitting around on their own, keeping to themselves. The human and fey crew were completely intermingled, by now. There were some damn strong friendships forming.


    With one exception.


    ¡°Mister Marren tells me you¡¯re settling in on the rigging crew like you were born to it,¡± Jerl commented, as he sat down next to the ship¡¯s one loner.


    Ekve nodded slowly. He had two lengths of old rope and was practicing the art of splicing them. ¡°He is a kind man,¡± he replied, evenly. His Garanese had improved dramatically since joining the crew, Jerl had noted. He¡¯d never lose the accent, but he knew what the word ¡¯the¡¯ was for, now.


    ¡°He wouldn¡¯t be if you were fucking up.¡±


    ¡°Even that is kindness. When he must be harsh, he does so because the rigging is what keeps us all alive, and any failure might spell disaster.¡± Ekve looked up at the network of ropes overhead with surprising, though reserved, warmth. ¡°I find the work¡­wholesome.¡±


    He caught Jerl¡¯s curious expression and managed a tiny, wry smile. ¡°Knowing what you do of me, I imagine you are surprised to hear such a sentiment pass my lips.¡±


    ¡°A little. Knowing what I do of you, I would have thought ¡®wholesome¡¯ was a foreign concept.¡±


    ¡°Indeed it was.¡± The former king of the elves nodded, and continued to practice his splicing.


    ¡°¡­What did they¡ª?¡±


    ¡°They made me relive it all.¡± Ekve set his rope down. ¡°Every life. Every second of every life. Every human span I snuffed out, or which was cut short as a consequence of my reign. Do not attempt to imagine it, I assure you¡­you cannot.¡±


    Jerl ignored that advice and tried anyway. Tried to picture just a small cross-section of all the poor bloody slaves who¡¯d suffered and died under the Ordfey. One might fairly make the case that literally all of their misery could be laid at Ekve¡¯s feet. To experience all of it¡­


    He was right. There was no imagining that. ¡°¡­That explains it,¡± he said, instead.


    ¡°Explains what?¡±


    ¡°Time,¡± Jerl clarified. ¡°It¡­it hangs on you like¡­I don¡¯t know. like a heavy snowfall. I¡¯ve met two Crowns at this point, and they¡¯re so ancient it doesn¡¯t even register. Trying to get a sense of how old they are is like, I dunno, like trying to picture how far away infinity is. but you? You¡¯re still young enough to feel incredibly old. Sin feels the same way a little, but nothing like you.¡±


    ¡°Of course not. Bomirdd killed with her own hands. Even as gleefully as she did it, there are only so many she had time for. I, however, killed dispassionately by decree and policy, on a scale that reached across all the worlds for two thousand years. I have experienced¡­tens of millions of human lifetimes, truncated though most of them were.¡±


    He sighed and looked down at his hands. ¡°At the height of all my empire¡¯s decadence, I would¡­I would lounge on silk pillows, sipping the most exquisite wine from cups of gold and crystal, watching a sweet young boy being¡­.well. There is no need to go into the grim detail, is there? It was¡­sordid. An utter caving to whims I thought must be good and natural because, if they were not, why would the Crowns have given them to us? And yet I would be bored. Cold. Emotionally¡­absent.¡±


    Jerl nodded, listening.


    ¡°And at the exact same moment, five miles away, a family of slaves would be huddled around a tiny rough table sharing little more than a loaf of bread and a bowl of peas porridge, and they would be happier than I had ever known was possible. And they were happy, not in spite of, but in part because they knew that it was only a matter of time before a Fey whim tore one or all of them away.¡± Ekve shook his head in awe. ¡°I thought humans were pitiful, wretched creatures, that death meant your lives were without meaning. I had it completely backwards.¡±


    ¡°And now, here you are.¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡± Ekve looked out at the sky for a moment. ¡°I have not thanked you properly for allowing my presence. It is most tolerant of you.¡±


    ¡°I have Sayf¡¯s word on it that you¡¯re worth tolerating. And Mouse¡¯s for that matter.¡±


    ¡°Mou¡ª? Oh. Yes. Of course. The Mindspeaker.¡± Ekve gave a familiar little headshake, as of one trying to dislodge something that had gotten stuck inside his brain. It seemed to be ubiquitous to Mouse¡¯s victims. Ekve cleared his throat softly, then effected a dark chuckle from somewhere. ¡°Given his presence, and how easily I forget him, I daresay you have rather a good assurance of the loyalty of everyone on this ship.¡±


    ¡°Oh, I don¡¯t need Mouse for that¡ªno offense,¡± Jerl commented over his shoulder.


    ¡°Heh! None taken!¡±


    They grinned at each other, and Mouse wandered off, abandoning his eavesdropping. They both secretly enjoyed the way Ekve carefully withheld any reaction.


    The fallen emperor shook his head, seeming dismayed mostly at himself. ¡°To be able to have such faith in your people¡­I envy it. To rise to the level I once occupied¡­those who do are those to whom loyalty is an exploitable folly of the less ambitious. Everyone clawing their way up toward the throne, tearing down the one ahead of him, kicking down the one below.¡±


    ¡°Here on on an airship, we all live or die together and the man who behaved like that is only dooming himself,¡± Jerl replied.


    ¡°Then how did you come to be in charge?¡±


    ¡°Love. Family. My folks founded an inn on the Tredmothfa, oh, four hundred years ago? My uncle Baris inherited it, and when it became clear my dad and I weren¡¯t ever going to be happy there, he took out a loan on the back of the inn¡¯s steady business, and we used it to commission the Queen.¡±


    ¡°He took quite a risk for you, then.¡±


    ¡°Aye. We repaid him, and then some. The inn¡¯s doing less business nowadays, now that more and more people are coming to Cantre by ship than by isle. It¡¯s just what family does, you know?¡±


    Ekve smiled, sadly. ¡°I didn¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°¡­Right.¡±


    ¡°As I said, it is¡­wholesome. And I am grateful to be here, and to learn.¡±


    Not knowing what else to say to that, Jerl clapped him on the shoulder, then stood, realizing that somehow he actually quite liked Ekve. The elf had the deep melancholy of the penitent, of course¡­but he was still charming. You could see the force of personality that had driven him to the top, ages ago.


    He looked up at a whistle from the rear lookout and darted to the stern, where he drew his telescope from his pocket and peered out into the midst, following the man¡¯s pointing finger. It took him a second to spot it, but there was definitely a dark shape shadowing them amidst the clouds.


    He was just about to beat to quarters when the clouds broke and he saw, rather than the hulk of another airship, a sinuous reptilian body and vast leathery wings. The wings flapped once, the body twisted lithely, and the drake vanished back into the clouds and out of sight. Jerl got the distinct impression he¡¯d just been winked at.


    He chuckled to himself, put the telescope away, and stepped away from the rail. ¡°All clear!¡±


    ¡°Aye, skipper.¡±


    For the first time in a long while, Jerl no longer felt vulnerable.


    <hr>


    <blockquote>


    Not all the Heralds are seen as figures of wisdom or virtue. The Shisha in particular is widely regarded as an indolent trickster, more interested in drugs and nonsense than in higher things. Likewise, the siblings Faun and Satyr are known chiefly for their habit of seducing unwary mortals with wine and sex. Even awe-inspiring Dragon is inscrutable and closed to the point of obtuseness. Collectively, they pose questions without good answers; perhaps that is the point. ¡ªAnoloa Nwodike, The Heralds


    </blockquote>


    <h2>The Rosehip Inn</h2>


    Cantre, Garanhir 09.06.03.10.02


    ¡°Well¡­after my Sofi passed¡­I was lonely. Just an old man rattling around an empty house. My daughters all married and looking after their children, my son off on an airship somewhere¡­I went along to that first Circle meeting because they promised me I wouldn¡¯t be alone any more.¡±


    A clock ticked solemnly as Dennis recalled his life. He had an unexpectedly poetic streak in him. ¡°¡­And I wasn¡¯t. It felt wonderful, so wonderful, that first Circle. Like the words just reached in through my heart to grab my soul and take away all the pain that had knotted it up. So, I went back, again and again, and I threw myself into it, because while I was there, it was like I had a family again¡­¡±


    He paused, and sighed. ¡°And¡­maybe there was a little voice in the back of my head started to worry. But if I ever thought about it, the reason why seemed to slip away, like a bar of soap in the bath. I was¡­happy. And the happier I got, the more it consumed me, and took away¡­well, it took away the pain, yes? But¡­but I mean¡­¡±


    ¡°You were married to her for thirty-three years,¡± Rheannach interjected, putting her hand warmly on his. ¡°The pain was right, and natural, it was part of your love for her. They couldn¡¯t take it without taking part of you.¡±


    ¡°¡­That¡¯s it, yes. That¡¯s exactly it,¡± Dennis agreed. He knocked back another measure of whiskey with a shaking hand. ¡°They had no right!¡±


    ¡°But they did it anyway. And each time you lost a little more of yourself.¡±


    He nodded miserably. ¡°Until there was naught left but the Circle. And then I put on their own garb and worked my fingers to the knuckle for ¡®em and made a vow that meant nothing ¡®cuz I wasn¡¯t myself enough to mean it. And then one day I was in the infirmary ¡®cuz my hands had lost all their strength again, and the Speaker told me there was a special task that I was better suited for.¡±


    ¡°Spying on me and mine,¡± Baris Holten rumbled.


    ¡°Yes. They didn¡¯t tell me why.¡±


    Ellaenie glanced out the window. The night must surely be nearly over by now, but Baris, for all his age, wasn¡¯t showing any sign of noticing. He¡¯d listened skeptically at first, then nodding, then rapt as they¡¯d laid out what was going on for him.


    ¡°Watching for Jerl,¡± he surmised.


    ¡°Yes,¡± Ellaenie agreed.


    ¡°Why? What¡¯s his role in all this?¡± Baris asked.


    ¡°Jerl found a second Word,¡± Ellaenie told him.


    ¡°Or, more accurately, our husbands and the others arranged for him to acquire it,¡± Rheannach clarified.


    ¡°¡­What, our Jerl?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°Why him?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t really know,¡± Ellaenie answer, truthfully but incompletely. ¡°He¡¯s rising to it magnificently, I must say. You can be very proud of him.¡±


    ¡°Well, I¡ªI am, o¡¯ course. Him and my little brother made a damn good life for knowing it was me who¡¯d inherit the inn. But Holtens aren¡¯t ambitious sorts, by and large. If this family¡¯s got a talent, it¡¯s bein¡¯ content with what we¡¯ve got.¡±


    ¡°A worthy talent,¡± Rheannach commented, with a smile.


    ¡°You¡¯re smiling, but I¡¯m looking at Dennis here and wondering when them Oneists are gonna come and take the Rosehip away from us, now,¡± Baris replied. ¡°You think they¡¯ll take what you did to him lying down? They¡¯ll retaliate and then me an¡¯ mine will be just like he was before you came, and the Rosehip¡¯ll be just another Circle house full of slaves. It¡¯s either that or we¡¯re driven out an¡¯ lied about like the duchess, here. We¡¯ve been innkeepers for hundreds and hundreds of years, and now you¡¯re tellin¡¯ me, I might be the last Holten to run the Rosehip.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s the fate that was coming for you anyway, I¡¯m afraid,¡± Ellaenie told him. She scooted forward on her chair until she was perched on the edge to look him straight in the eye. ¡°But we do have the means to protect you.¡±


    His scowl returned. He had a face built for scowling, really. Funny, that this man who looked so much like Jerl and was so closely related to him could be so different in outward temper. But then his gaze flicked to Dennis. Ellaenie saw sympathetic outrage in the way his scowl deepened then relaxed again, and then he exhaled, letting his shoulders drop.


    ¡°If there¡¯s any way I can help¡­¡± he offered.


    ¡°For now, just keep your family out of harm¡¯s way. If they come demanding to know where Dennis is, you drink this,¡± Ellaenie handed him a vial, ¡°and you lie to them.¡±


    ¡°¡­Is that all?¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re going to be watching this place even more closely now that we¡¯ve shown interest.¡± Ellaenie told him, then glanced at Rheannach.


    ¡°There is a place in the woods, about two miles up the road,¡± Rheannach told him. ¡°A pool, with a waterfall through an old stone carving¡¯s mouth. Do you know it?¡±


    ¡°That ol¡¯ place? Crowns, I haven¡¯t been up there since I was this high¡­always felt there was something special about it.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re right, there is. If the pressure ever grows too much, if you ever fear for your family¡¯s safety, take them up there and call for me. I¡¯ll come as quickly as I can, I swear it.¡±


    A huge weight dropped off Baris¡¯ shoulders. ¡°¡­Thank you, Lady Raksuul.¡±


    Rheannach nodded, then looked to Dennis. ¡°You, on the other hand, are coming with us. And it is time for us to leave, now.¡±


    Dennis frowned and stood. ¡°Already?¡±


    ¡°Cantre is only sixty miles away, and there are horse posts all along the tredmothfa. If the Oneists sent somebody out quickly after you were broken free, somebody from the Cantre circle house could already be half-way here. And an airship? Goodness knows.¡± Rheannach explained. ¡°Or they might not notice at all. We don¡¯t know, so we aren¡¯t taking unnecessary risks.¡±


    ¡°Right. I¡¯ll¡­get my things, then.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll help,¡± Rheannach said, and accompanied him from the room. Baris fidgeted slightly with his clothing and cleared his throat.


    ¡°I¡­uh¡­feel I owe you an apology,¡± he said, after a moment.


    ¡°Absolutely not.¡±


    ¡°I meant for¡­for believing all the shite the Oneists said about you, pardon my language.¡±


    ¡°Lies are easy to believe. Lies based in the truth, doubly so. I am a witch, Mister Holten. It¡¯s a good thing. Your own granddaughter has some talent for it, in fact.¡±


    ¡°¡­What, our Briggit?¡±


    ¡°Oh yes. She resisted my magic quite well. And the lantern stones all have her signature. She charges them, doesn¡¯t she?¡±


    ¡°Aye. Girl hardly needs to wave ¡®em at the fire and they¡¯re ready. And she lights ¡®em with a snap of her fingers.¡±


    ¡°Strong-willed?¡±


    ¡°Holten women are, at that,¡± Baris grinned. ¡°But oh, yes. She¡¯s all fair and flowers with the guests, but I daresay she¡¯ll rule the scullery like it¡¯s her own duchy in a couple more years. But¡­a witch, though¡­?¡±


    ¡°Perhaps. It is for her to decide, and no-one else.¡± Though if Ellaenie had her way¡­she was overdue to start looking for a Maiden. And there was more virtue in the Holten family than they liked to pretend. Briggit might just be perfect.


    But there were other candidates, too.


    ¡°¡­Your grace?¡± Baris prompted after a moment.


    ¡°Forgive me. I¡¯m distracted by my thoughts.¡± Ellaenie picked up her bag. ¡°Thank you again for your hospitality, Mister Holten. You¡¯ve helped us more than you can know.¡±


    He nodded, looking quite troubled. Ellaenie¡¯s heart went out to the poor man; he was no coward, she judged, but he was definitely the sort who¡¯d prefer to keep his head down and let trouble come to other people. A trait he shared with Jerl, truthfully.


    But she guessed there were other traits he shared with his nephew. Men were as much the product of nurture as nature, and the Holten family seemed to be turning out good people. Here, Ellaenie felt, was somebody they could trust. She touched his arm reassuringly, projecting warmth and confidence, and preceded him through the door, to find Rheannach and Dennis packed and ready, waiting for her.


    They said their farewells, with renewed promises of whatever protection and assistance they could give, and set out at a brisk pace, aiming to be off the road and back in the woods before night¡¯s end.


    The hike back to the stepping place was uneventful, though Ellaenie couldn¡¯t shake a crawling feeling in her spine. She reassured herself that the Sight was quiescent: this was just ordinary paranoia, and the feeling of being exposed for the first time in eight years, made more intense by Dennis¡¯ slow, halting walk.


    Even at his pace, though, this was deep in the night. They made it to the grove well before daybreak without sighting another soul, and from there¡­


    ¡°Brace yourself, Mister Beck. this next bit can be quite disorienting.¡±


    ¡°What next b¡ª?¡±


    Ellaenie grinned as she felt the world change. Beck stopped in his tracks, blinking, then looked around wildly. It was always amazing to her that the transition was so¡­seamless, even though the origin and destination could be entirely different. One moment, they had been in a glade with the sound of tinkling water, now¡­now they were under the branches of a particularly bearded willow tree, its green curtain raining down all around them. The two places looked nothing alike, and yet, the moment of moving from one to the next was so natural it felt like looking up from deep thought and realizing one had traveled far.


    ¡°I¡­but we¡­how?¡± Beck stammered.


    ¡°In the ages before airships, this was the convenient way to get around,¡± Rheannach commented. ¡°The Ordfey suppressed knowledge of it, so their slaves wouldn¡¯t be able to use them to escape.¡±


    ¡°Where are we?¡±


    Rheannach smiled, and brushed aside the falling willow strands.


    ¡°Crae Vhannog,¡± she said, in the second before her heart dropped into her boots and horror stole the happy tone from her voice.


    Beyond them should have been a rolling country of golden wheat and sheep-cropped emerald grass in paddocks divided by loose stone walls and bubbling streams. And in the distance, atop a high craggy rock, sat a castle whose green and silver banners should have been flowing in the wind from its round turrets.


    Instead, there was a muddy expanse of earthworks, burned crops and tents. Beyond them, the banners still flew, but not beautifully. Instead, they were tattered symbols of defiance atop beaten and bombarded walls, under a canopy of barrage ballons and bristling anti-airship cannon.


    Caisteal Vhannog was under siege.

 Chapter 13: Luck and Smoke

    <blockquote>


    ¡°A Thaighn is a leader of the Craenen, and rules over an entire Crae, which in many cases means ruling an entire earthmote. Some writers have translated the word thaighn as ¡®chieftain¡¯ in an attempt to make the Craenen people seem backwards and uncivilized, but a thaighn is properly equal in rank to a Garanese duke, and even the least holds the fealty of many lairds and ridires.¡±


    *¡ª*Prince Ruber of Valai, My Travels.


    </blockquote>


    <h2>Caisteal Vhannog</h2>


    Crae Vhannog, E?rrach¡¯s Sphere 09.06.03.10.02


    ¡°Inventory o¡¯ the food supplies is complete, an¡¯ the good news is we hae more than we thought. Wi¡¯ proper rationing, we can hold nigh on five months. An¡¯ the wells run deep an¡¯ good.¡±


    ¡°Our food supplies might last that long, but the walls won¡¯t. All they need tae do is bring up cannon, an¡¯ I¡¯d wager that¡¯s exactly what they¡¯re doin¡¯ wi¡¯ that airship that landed out down near Jodhrey¡¯s Lairding.¡±


    Thaighn Kieran Crown-Child nodded grimly as he heard a repetition of the same points he¡¯d heard yesterday and the day before. He would have preferred to hold this morning meeting up on the Thaighn¡¯s Tower where he could get a good view of the entire Crae, but the enemy force had sharpshooters. He wasn¡¯t willing to die ignominiously to a sniper¡¯s bullet while taking his morning repast, especially not when the repast in question was a boring affair of porridge and a little small beer. If a man was going to die, he should at least do it after a good meal.


    ¡°So we¡¯ll not hold,¡± he predicted.


    Kieran¡¯s Ridiremarshal was a perpetually dour man named Alasdair, who in most regards couldn¡¯t have been more opposite to the Thaighn. Alasdair was short and wiry, toughened like he¡¯d been dried out on a smoking rack. His skin had been snow-pale once, before a lifetime spent outdoors had weathered it, but it would never take on a warm hue. Nor either would his eyes, which were as strikingly Craenen blue as Kieran¡¯s mother¡¯s had been. ¡°We¡¯ll not hold,¡± he agreed. ¡°This¡¯ll end in a pro forma surrender after, oh, ten days for the sake o¡¯ dignity. If they have any honour.¡±


    Kieran nodded, lips pursed thoughtfully. He knew he stood out among the men of his court for the simple reason that in looks he very much took much after his father. He was tall, broad, dark of complexion, hair and eye, quick to smile and optimistic. Sunny, as some put it.


    Not that he was feeling terribly sunny right now.


    ¡°We still have no idea who they are?¡±


    ¡°No, thaighn. They¡¯re a mix o¡¯ mercenaries.¡±


    ¡°Expensive mercenaries,¡± Kieran¡¯s steward added. Cillian was one of those men who looked stretched, like he¡¯d been hung from the rafters with heavy weights hooked to his boots as a child. His hair had long since gone iron grey, and he wore it unfashionably short, almost shaved down, and all one length. It wasn¡¯t a flattering look at all, but the man didn¡¯t seem to care one bit. He was all about figures, statistics, organization and operations. Dressing well and presenting himself finely were irrelevant fripperies, no matter what the thaighn or the thaighn¡¯s greatly esteemed father might say.


    ¡°Any elves?¡±


    ¡°No. All human. Mostly Storsteinner clans, I think.¡± Cillian consulted his papers to be sure, then nodded in self-confirmation. ¡°This must have taken some time to plan. And many airships. That points to a guild, one of the big ones.¡±


    ¡°But the airships we¡¯ve seen bore no livery,¡± Alasdair pointed out.


    ¡°Doesn¡¯t matter,¡± Kieran declared. ¡°¡¯Tis the Clear Skies, I¡¯m in no doubt of it. No¡¯ content with murdering my mother, Civorage has come to claim revenge for the curse she laid on him.¡±


    ¡°It is the cleanest explanation,¡± Cillian agreed.


    ¡°Well he¡¯ll have his revenge,¡± Alasdair declared. ¡°And I doubt he¡¯s a good enough man tae give us an honorable siege an¡¯ surrender.¡±


    ¡°As do I.¡±


    What Kieran didn¡¯t say aloud was that at least Civorage wasn¡¯t here himself. He¡¯d inherited a great talent in the Craft from both parents, and had Nils Civorage actually attended in person, his presence would have been like the pressure of an approaching storm. Crae Vhannog was, insult of insults, an afterthought to him.


    And in such arrogance lay some small hope of salvation. If only he could find it.


    He moved to the window, wishing he had the freedom to go to his favourite perch atop the frontward wall. He always thought best from his seat there, which afforded a wonderful view of the entire Crae. But alas, sitting there today would make him an easy target for a rifleman with a good scope. He would have to be content with a glimpse of the open sky, and the muster yard below where his ridires were drilling the militia.


    He sighed, emptied his mind, and tried to allow inspiration to flow in. Surely there was something¡­


    ¡°¡­Do you feel that?¡±


    Cillian looked up from the desk. ¡°I have¡¯nae the Sight, Thaighn,¡± he reminded Kieran, gently.


    Kieran ignored him. He leaned forward, unlatched the window and swung it open. The breeze rushed in, and Alasdair protested as his papers were nearly snatched up and thrown around¡­but something came in on the breeze. Something black and white and welcome beyond words, which swirled around the room before landing before the desk.


    Rheannach unfolded herself in a shower of feathers and magnificent wings, about the most perfectly welcome sight Kieran could have asked for. She took his hands and hugged him while Cillian and Alasdair took an astonished step back.


    ¡°You¡¯re alive!¡± she sounded just as relieved to see him as he was to see her.


    ¡°Aye, they only laid siege. We¡¯re no¡¯ dead yet.¡±


    ¡°Why didn¡¯t you send word?¡±


    ¡°I did! Or, I thought I did¡­.¡± Kieran¡¯s smile drooped. ¡°If ye did¡¯nae come to my call, why are ye here?¡±


    ¡°We have¡­well, we were bringing somebody to safety. A former member of the Circle. Ellaenie¡¯s draught works, Kieran!¡±


    ¡°Seems it still has a downside, though. Ye¡¯re deaf tae my thoughts.¡± Kieran fretted, before another thought drove that concern out of his mind. ¡°Is Ellaenie wi¡¯ ye?¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s up at the hidden path. Don¡¯t worry, Kieran. She¡¯s no fool and she knows how important she is. She won¡¯t endanger herself without good cause.¡±


    Kieran relaxed. ¡°Aye, well. I¡¯ve missed her. But this is no place for her. We need an army.¡±


    ¡°The Craenen you united were to be our army.¡± Rheannach sighed and looked out the window she¡¯d flown in through. ¡°It seems one of our advisors was right. Our enemy has a knack for moving in ways we do not expect.¡±


    Kieran frowned at her, trying to guess her thoughts. Rheannach had always struck him as a strange goddess of love (not that she accepted the term of herself.) If he¡¯d been asked to imagine such a being without knowing of her, he would have pictured something more¡­deranging. Beautiful enough to drive men mad, sultry enough to wrap the world around her finger, tempestuous enough to destroy civilizations and yet kind enough to reduce hardened warriors to tears.


    What they had was Rheannach, in all her disarming normalcy. Certainly beautiful, but not supernaturally so, she¡¯d spent decades living anonymously in Thaighn Saoirse¡¯s court without anyone suspecting her true identity. Powerful, wise and kind indeed, and yet approachable. To Kieran she was more a big sister than an object of desire or devotion. And she was so very solemn. She could be the very archetype of feminine inscrutability when she wished, but at the same time it wasn¡¯t like her to be obtuse.


    ¡°¡­What have I missed?¡± he asked her.


    He was treated to the rare sight of her smile, despite their immediate troubles. ¡°Somebody stole Civorage¡¯s Word,¡± she told him.


    Kieran blinked, then gestured to Cillian and the steward hastened to pour them whisky.


    ¡°I think,¡± he said, ¡°ye had best tell me more¡­¡±


    <hr>


    Ellaenie was not, in fact, lying low and waiting for Rheannach to return. She¡¯d left Dennis Beck at the hidden path, of course, but to her way of thinking there was little point in having all her finely-honed talents and not putting them to work.


    And besides¡­there was a lot more going on than just the siege.


    Vhan was the craenen word for a mine, so Crae Vhannog was literally Mining Country. Small though the earthmote was, it was so riddled with lead, copper and silver that even the rocky hill on which Caisteal Vhannog stood was shot through with colorful ores and oxides. From her position below it as she slipped through the woods to circle around the siege, Ellaenie could see why it was sometimes called ¡°the Rainbow Cairn.¡±


    They funny thing she¡¯d noticed as she surveyed the land while Rheannach flew off to check on Thaighn Kieran was that while the largest part of the invading force was laying siege¡­the rest of it wasn¡¯t doing what she¡¯d expected. There was an awful lot of country to plunder and pillage, and yet it was mostly going unmolested, though a force of men had seized the caisteal town. Otherwise though, there was no sign of any squads going around the farms to ¡°requisition¡± their stores and livestock. The common folk were apparently being left alone.


    Ellaenie didn¡¯t trust that one bit. It was too¡­focused. It suggested the armies didn¡¯t actually plan to remain long enough to need the supplies. And then there were the airships landed some miles from the caisteal, around a notch in the land where she could see the rails and wheel gantry of a mine.


    She darted out of the cover of the woods, sprinted as fast as she knew how over the open terrain, jumped a small stream and scrambled up a bank where her boots scrabbled and kicked a shower of pebbles behind her. Her hopes that there would be some cover along the higher ground were rewarded: not only were there a number of errant boulders, but they were interspersed with scrappy stands of gorse and nettle. A painful barrier to anyone other than a witch, those.


    With a silent apology to whoever would have to clean her coat afterwards, she dropped on her belly and squirmed forward under one of the gorse bushes that grew out at an angle from the very spot where the flat ground dropped away down a sharp rocky drop that almost deserved the word cliff. With an exertion of her will and a touch of Craft, the twisted, angry branches shivered and bent away from her, turning their thousands of needles aside so that she could wriggle forward until she was completely beneath it and peering down into the bowl of the mine¡¯s yard.


    Sure enough, there were workers down there, and they weren¡¯t oddly dilligent locals. Four of the men coming up out of the mine were stripped to the waist, and stone dust and sweat were caked on their skin, matted in chest hair and whiskers and streaking their coarse linen trousers.


    She turned her ear and concentrated. The Sight could enhance hearing too, if she wished. And right now, she wished to hear what they were reporting to the taller, slimmer, cleaner figure who was waiting for them.


    ¡°¡ªoddest stratum I¡¯ve ever seen, right enough. ¡®Tis nae the normal motestone an¡¯ minerals, but almost like¡­eh. Ye¡¯ll think I¡¯ve gone cracked i¡¯ the heid.¡±


    The tall man¡¯s clothing was an airshipman¡¯s, but of much finer and more expensive make than most: rather than the usual leather coat with a wool or fur lining, his was of worsted wool in charcoal, worn over a matching silk waistcoat.


    Absurdly, his face was hidden by a party mask. The feminine visage was made of pale lacquered wood painted with rosy cheeks, bright red lips and dark makeup around the eye-holes. A cascade of dark, glossy hair was drawn back and braided to either side of his scalp before falling to level with his cuffs, and he was resting his weight on one leg while toying with an ivory-topped cane. He looked entirely dandyish¡­and curiously sinister for just how much he was out of place.


    The mask distorted his voice so badly, she couldn¡¯t make out his words. She caught his laugh, though: It was soft and refined, aristocratic, and deeper than she would have guessed. She¡¯d been expecting an effete giggle.


    ¡°¡­It¡¯s like¡­like rivers runnin¡¯ tae a lake. Or lightnin¡¯ forkin¡¯ down tae strike a tower. I swear, all th¡¯ mineral veins down there are laid out wi¡¯ purpose,¡± the miner said. He frowned when the masked figure nodded slowly as though hearing expected news. ¡°¡¯Tisn¡¯t natural.¡±


    This time, Ellaenie heard the masked man¡¯s voice, but it didn¡¯t help. She couldn¡¯t place his accent at all. ¡°Then it¡¯s exactly what I hoped for.¡±


    ¡°¡­I see. Well, it¡¯s hard goin¡¯. The workers need a rest an¡¯ a sup.¡±


    ¡°We have plenty of time. They can have it.¡±


    The masked man waved a hand in a way that told Ellaenie his kindness was pure calculation. Tired men made mistakes, mistakes meant deaths and delays. The Sight was thwarted by he mask to a large degree, but there were other clues¡ªbearing, posture, tone of voice, and more. He seemed an acutely rational man, rather than a kind one.


    Rational, but driven. His patient investment in a safe excavation was at war with a lust for whatever was down there that made him half want to sprint into the mine and take up a pick in his own hands.


    The foreman sent a man back into the mines, then moved away downhill with the masked figure, toward an airship anchored in the valley. A rich ship, Ellaenie noted: the bag was whole and clean, unpatched, and black, which was an expensive dye. The ship¡¯s figurehead was a copy of her owner¡¯s mask, and her name was painted in flowing gold script below the bowsprit: Aleator.


    Boots crunched on the stones behind her and she froze. Fortunately, she¡¯d been smart enough to pull her feet in behind her and curl up under the gorse bush, but now it occurred to her that a bush really was no protection at all. If they knew she was in here, then one bayonet thrust¡­


    There were two of them. Stormclansmen, to judge from the kilts and tattooed shins. The impression was confirmed when one of them spoke to his comrade.


    ¡°Vas?¡± He sounded bored and impatient.


    The other man sounded tense and wary. ¡°Nidwis¡¯n. Toten eg sae somen sn¨ªkin op her.¡±


    Ellaenie grit her teeth and concentrated the Craft, concentrated on her Glamer. I am not here, she willed. Ignore me. Leave me alone. She tried to picture the power that constantly shrouded¡­uhm¡­.shit. Jerl¡¯s young man who wasn¡¯t a man¡­


    Whatever. His name wasn¡¯t important right now. Focus.


    The first man let out a long-suffering sigh. ¡°Is naen op her, arse-hode,¡± he said, impatiently. Pain suffused his words, radiating from feet that had suffered inadequate footwear for too long.


    ¡°Arse-hode thissen! I nid saen de vindur; lok rond.¡±


    Ellaenie scowled with the effort. No. Shut up. You¡¯re tired, your feet hurt and you¡¯re hungry.


    ¡°¡­Nae. Shod op. Is naen op her, I tart, I fot smert un I willen met.¡±


    ¡°Egh¡­¡± The first man paused. His leather shoes scraped through the dust as he turned and looked around. Finally, he made a grumbling noise and turned back down the hill. ¡°¡­Ya. F¨ªn.¡±


    They trudged away before helping each other down the gravelly bank. Only once the sound of their bickering was far away did Ellaenie dare to release the long, relieved sigh she¡¯d held onto. That had been far too close.


    She glanced up at the Caisteal. Rheannach was still up there, presumably. And Ellaenie had nothing to prove to anyone. She stared at those distant windows and the tattered banners atop their cracked turrets, and formed the picture of her Mother in her mind.


    And sent a decidedly sheepish update.


    <hr>


    <blockquote>


    The Ordfey used language as a means of reinforcing the impenetrable barrier between master and slave. For a human to speak the language of the elves was a capital crime. Hence we have Wightidh, the root slave-tongue of humanity from which all of later human dialects have arisen, and mutated over the years until one must look closely and carefully to see the old languages in them at all. ¡ªElas Kenvayada Molosi, Tongues.


    </blockquote>


    <h2>Gunnery Practice</h2>


    The airship Cavalier Queen, en route to St¨®rsteinn 09.06.03.10.02


    ¡°Fire!¡±


    Jerl felt his new cannonade as a rippling series of pounding sensations in his chest as the Queen¡¯s starboard battery spoke. He didn¡¯t look at the guns, though: his telescope was trained on the earthmote they¡¯d found for target practice.


    This one was tiny, maybe a hundred yards across at most. A shoal rather than a proper mote, it was little more than a rough ball of rock with a thatch of hardy yellow-green grass. Nothing else lived there, neither tree nor bird nor rabbit. It was just one of those forgotten bits of rock left over from the breaking of the Crowns¡¯ vision for a single sphere.


    The perfect target for an inexperienced gunnery crew, in other words. He watched the cannonballs smash home, raising fountains of pulverized stone and shredded sod, and smiled.


    ¡°Good timing, Mister ad Sulidhan! Bang on target!¡±


    There was a cheer from the gun teams.


    ¡°Thank you skipper!¡± Padrig called back. His scalp was still so smooth from his promotion that it gleamed, so he was wearing a woollen tuque against the chill air.


    ¡°Now do it again! In fact, make it three! Best time!¡±


    ¡°Aye aye!¡±


    The gun crews became a blur of activity, literally. Jerl actually had to exert Time a little to follow the elves as they accelerated themselves through the process of loading. Quench, bag, ball, ram, prick, prime, set.


    At least, that was how it was supposed to go. They had only just started step two when Padrig jumped on a mistake Jerl hadn¡¯t seen. ¡°Halt!¡±


    Activity ceased.


    ¡°Third gun number two, front and center!¡±


    The spongeman grimaced and jumped to stand as instructed.


    ¡°Do you understand the purpose of quenching the gun?¡± Padrig demanded of him.


    ¡°Yes chief!¡±


    ¡°Explain it to me!¡±


    ¡°To damp any embers so they don¡¯t set the charge off when we load it, chief!¡±


    ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°So the loader won¡¯t get blown to bits by our own gun, chief!¡±


    ¡°This is a job to do thoroughly, then?¡±


    ¡°Yes, chief!¡±


    ¡°Then why didn¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°No excuse, chief!¡±


    Satisfied, Jerl turned away and left him to his work. He headed for his cabin, intent on updating the log. Today¡¯s date, ¡¯gunnery practice at an unnamed small mote. Crews performing well, Mister ad Sulidhan continues to impress in his new role.¡¯ Short and simple.


    Instead, when he pushed his cabin door open, he found a man standing at his desk, reading the log. Not one of Jerl¡¯s crew.


    Jerl stopped and gawped at him, too shocked to even think of reaching for a weapon. The man¡¯s presence was impossible. ¡°You¡¯re¡ªwho¡ª?¡±


    The man beamed and stood tall before bowing with a flourish. He was an elderly Alakbiri in appearance, his skin sun-baked and lined, but his dark eyes twinkled with knowledge and mischief beneath a flagrantly colorful turban. He wore a long beard drown out into three neat points and accompanied by a truly splendid mustache, which curled upwards as he smiled a wide, white, toothy grin.


    ¡°You never came to visit me, Captain,¡± he chided.


    ¡°I¡­¡±


    ¡°Really, you spent so much time at the Oasis, and not once did you think to yourself, ¡®maybe I¡¯ll go sit down and share a smoke with the Shisha?¡¯ Most impolite. I had thoughts I wished to share!¡±


    ¡°¡­Lord Herald.¡± Jerl recovered his wits somewhat. ¡°Ah. Would you, uh, like a drink?¡±


    ¡°Not for me! I don¡¯t touch alcohol. But you smoke, don¡¯t you?¡± A twirl of his fingers produced a long-stemmed pipe seemingly from nowhere and his grin, somehow, grew even more sparkling. ¡°I have the best leaf in the worlds!¡±


    Well¡­why not? The log could wait.


    ¡°I¡­yes. Thank you.¡± Jerl went fishing inside his coat and produced his own pipe. The Shisha smiled and made bold with his desk chair, sitting back in it and stretching out his long legs. He stretched and curled his bare toes like a man who¡¯d been standing too long, then produced a bag from somewhere and thumbed a pinch into his pipe.


    ¡°You were busy, of course. I understand, really. Powerful people with much to do are often so full of purpose they neglect their manners.¡±


    ¡°Forgive me, but last I checked, it¡¯s Prince Sayf¡¯s palace, not yours.¡±


    ¡°Heh! Why, because he¡¯s older and more powerful? Feh!¡± The Shisha snorted, and flicked a hand in a display of curious disrespect for his Crown. ¡°Wisdom is not a function of age and power, nor is it one thing. My wisdom is different to his, is different to Rheannach¡¯s and Dragon¡¯s and Yngmir¡¯s and Haust¡¯s¡­and yours! And your crew¡¯s!¡±


    ¡°Is it wise to consider yourself wise?¡± Jerl ventured. He¡¯d read about the Shisha before, who was a figure of considerable scandal and debate among Heraldic scholars, but the one piece of advice they all seemed to agree on was that he preferred prickly questions. People who hung on his every word, they ventured, seemed to lose his respect and become the victims of his pranks and jokes.


    It certainly seemed to work. The Shisha chuckled, finished lighting up, and sipped some smoke with a pop-pop before blowing it out around a wide smile. ¡°It¡¯s a curve,¡± he said. ¡°Down here, you have the fools who think themselves wise. Up in the middle, you have the average man who is wise enough to think himself a fool¡­and down here at the end, you have the very wise who know themselves well.¡± He pointed the stem of the pipe at Jerl. ¡°And you are very average, yes?¡±


    ¡°¡­Thank you?¡±


    ¡°Good answer.¡±


    ¡°I¡­hm. Uh. Not to be rude, but why are you here? Surely you¡¯re not that put out by me not coming to visit you at the Oasis?¡±


    The Shisha smiled warmly and blew a smoke ring. ¡°Light up.¡±


    Jerl pulled a face as the smell of it hit him. It was¡­unfamiliar, and not actually pleasant. when he took a sniff of his own pipe bowl, he found it matched. ¡°This isn¡¯t the herb I¡¯m used to smoking.¡±


    His guest chuckled. ¡°No. But, fine. If you will not light up yet, perhaps a little thinking first. Have you ever wondered why we Heralds exist?¡±


    ¡°Well¡­it¡¯s in the name, isn¡¯t it? You¡¯re the Crowns¡¯ messengers.¡±


    ¡°Yes! But what message?¡±


    Jerl shrugged and spread his hands. ¡°Please, enlighten me.¡±


    ¡°Hah! Exactly!¡± the Shisha had a round belly-laugh, quite like Sayf¡¯s, and somehow Jerl¡¯s words seemed to have tickled him greatly. ¡°Enlighten you! That is the message!¡±


    He laughed a ltitle more, sipped smoke from his pipe and leaned forward as though conspiring. ¡°We enlighten. We all have our ways of doing it. Yngmir has his hall full of books and his stultifying cerebral conversation¡­feh. Dragon has her poetry, her art, her meditation on mountaintops. Rheannach has her mushrooms and dancing naked in the woods¡­¡±


    ¡°That one does sound fun,¡± Jerl admitted. ¡°But what about Maicoh and Maingan? or Faun and Satyr?¡±


    ¡°Oh, the hounds have their method too. The thrill of the hunt, the baying of the pack, the rushing of the blood, the steaming of entrails in the snow¡­and as for the twins? Oh, perhaps they are the very best at their job of all of us.¡±


    ¡°Really?¡± Jerl perched on his desk. ¡°All I ever heard of them is that they¡¯ll invite you to drink wine and fuck until you pass out.¡±


    The Shisha¡¯s eyes gleamed. ¡°Then you haven¡¯t heard half the story. Their goal is to be a mistake. Something you regret, even though it was so good the night before. The headiest wine, the most incredible sex, the dancing and singing and joy of losing yourself in them¡­and then, the consequences.¡±


    ¡°What? A really bad hangover?¡±


    ¡°That is the first consequence. Then there is the scorn of those who know what you did and don¡¯t approve. The gossip. The jokes. The feeling of having experienced something wonderful that will never come again¡­.¡± The Shisha¡¯s smile turned sad. ¡°¡­And finally, the child. There is always a child. Either she who dallied with them becomes pregnant, or he who dallied with them finds the babe waiting safe and warm in front of his hearth one morning. Either way, the payment for that one wonderful night is the greatest consequence and responsibility most people can ever know.¡±


    For a moment, there was silence except for the faint woody creak of the hull, and the ticking of Jerl¡¯s clock. The Shisha sipped smoke, blew another ring, then smiled into his pipe, distantly. ¡°And they all say the same thing,¡± he added. ¡°That the coming of this burden into their life is the best thing that could have happened. The responsibility is what transformed a shameful night of pleasure from a meaningless dalliance into the most wonderful thing they ever did. I think even you can see the Twins¡¯ lesson now, yes?¡±¡°


    ¡°I have responsibilities,¡± Jerl pointed out. ¡°To my ship, and my crew.¡±


    ¡°And you have Time, Wordspeaker. And that is a responsibility far beyond these boards and bags. Trust your quartermaster, navigator, engineer, rigger and gunner to keep the ship, and let me, as you requested, enlighten you.¡±


    Jerl waved his pipe. ¡°This is your method?¡±


    ¡°Mhm. Like Rheannach¡¯s mushrooms. Don¡¯t worry, you won¡¯t have to get naked. Unless you want to, heh!¡±


    Jerl watched him a moment, then sighed and struck his match. ¡°Fine¡­¡±


    The smoke¡¯s taste was strange, and he didn¡¯t much like it. But it was quite relaxing¡­calming, really. He exhaled, and sampled it again. ¡°Not so bad¡­¡± he admitted.


    ¡°Not at all,¡± the Shisha agreed. ¡°Now, as for why I went to the effort of joining you here on your airship¡­I am here to tell you you¡¯re doing well. Very well. Too well, really!¡±


    ¡°How is it possible to be doing too well?¡±


    ¡°Ask Satyr and Faun.¡±


    Jerl frowned at him, then smoked a little more when the Shisha gestured for him to continue. ¡°¡­I don¡¯t follow.¡±


    ¡°You will if you think about what I just said of them.¡±


    ¡°You think¡­I should¡­making mistakes?¡±


    ¡°Exactly!¡± the Shisha sat back, and blew a smoke ring. ¡°See there? Can you do that?¡±


    ¡°Uh, yeah.¡±


    ¡°How many times did you try and fail, before you first got it right?¡±


    ¡°A lot, I suppose. As with any skill.¡±


    The Shisha grinned and wagged a finger at him. ¡°Exactly,¡± he repeated. ¡°Mistakes are how one learns.¡±


    ¡°Or how good people get killed,¡± Jerl reminded him.


    ¡°Ahh, yes. An airship captain who makes mistakes is a bad captain, and one who goes actively looking for mistakes is a terrible fool. But you are no ordinary airship captain. You are a Wordspeaker. You are the Timespeaker. And to you therefore is afforded the unique opportunity to make unlimited mistakes without anyone suffering the permanent consequences.¡±


    ¡°Except myself,¡± Jerl retorted. ¡°These are my friends we¡¯re talking about, not playthings. I have a duty to them.¡±


    ¡°Playthings? No. Of course not,¡± the Shisha replied, becoming suddenly serious. ¡°That is the mistake the elves and Civorage already made, and you have their example to learn from. You don¡¯t need to go down that path. But there are other paths where no-one has walked, and you must.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°Because you will not win by always doing what seems best. Your enemy will predict your every move if all you do is the sensible thing. Remember, even though you took the word from him, he still has spoken Mind. He knows how people think, just as you know how time flows. You must, at some point, follow your inspiration and take risks. And there is only one way to become good at that.¡±


    If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    ¡°Fine!¡± Jerl¡¯s irritation was strong enough to burst through even the soothing smoke that was slowly cuddling his mind. ¡°I agree! But those are my friends!¡± he pointed out the door. ¡°Weighing time in like it¡¯s an anchor doesn¡¯t change the fact I watched them die that first time around. It was¡­I don¡¯t want to go through it again. Because either it¡¯ll never stop being so painful, or it will. And like you said, I¡¯ve seen what¡¯s down that road.¡±


    ¡°And what if that is what saving the world requires?¡±


    ¡°And what if it isn¡¯t?¡± Jerl stood up and put the pipe down, deciding he didn¡¯t much like the Shisha¡¯s leaf after all. ¡°I have Time to guide me, Lord Herald, something even you don¡¯t have. There¡¯s lots on my crew think I made a mistake in taking Ekve aboard without making him swear an oath, but premonition told me otherwise. I don¡¯t need to explore the mistaken paths to find out what they hold, I can see them.¡±


    ¡°Not clearly enough,¡± the Shisha replied, evenly.


    ¡°Clearer than you.¡± Jerl shook his head. ¡°And I¡¯ve heard you sometimes give bad advice to test if the one you¡¯re advising is smart enough to see it. I think this is one of those times, whether you mean it or not.¡±


    The Shisha stared at him a long moment, then rose to his feet and bowed. ¡°Perhaps so,¡± he said, evenly. ¡°Or perhaps you are following my advice and making a mistake right now.¡±


    ¡°Time will tell,¡± Jerl replied, equally even-keeled.


    ¡°¡­Heh!¡± the Shisha chuckled, then chuckled again, then laughed. ¡°Aha! Haha! Oh, yes! You of all people can say that, can¡¯t you? Hah! Very well! You have heard my advice, and given that you deem it stupid advice, you are choosing not to heed it. I respect that. And I hope you are right. If not¡­you will be following my advice after all.¡±


    He grinned and bowed. ¡°Perhaps we shall meet again, and we can discuss other matters.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps,¡± Jerl agreed, though privately he suspected there¡¯d be a thaw in Talvi¡¯s sphere before he tasted that pungent leaf again.


    The Shisha smiled. ¡°Or perhaps not. You¡¯re an interesting man, Captain Jerl, but I cannot entertain myself with every interesting person in the worlds, can I? There are far too many!¡±


    He grinned and, before Jerl could reply, blew out a particularly large smoke ring right in Jerl¡¯s face. Jerl blinked, recoiled and waved it off; when he looked again, the Shisha was gone, leaving only the faint sound of laughter.


    ¡°¡­Prick,¡± Jerl grunted, and tidied up.


    He was starting to get sick and tired of everyone coming to him with advice and tests.


    <hr>


    <blockquote>


    ¡°Here is a surprising truth for you that I solemnly swear is true: most of the world does not exist at all. This floor we¡¯re sitting on may seem solid, but in actual fact it¡¯s proportionately just as empty as my hall would be if it contained nothing but a child¡¯s marble set upon the floor. The evidence of your eyes is no evidence at all.¡± ¡ªYngmir, quoted by Prince Ruber of Valai, Conversations with Heralds


    </blockquote>


    <h2>Hiding under a bush</h2>


    Crae Vhannog, the Craenen 09.06.03.10.02


    It was dawning on Ellaenie that she may have overlooked a detail.


    At first, her word to Rheannach had been met with long silence, not even an acknowledgement. So she¡¯d tried again. And again. And she knew Rheannach well, there was no way she¡¯d just ignore her, not now, not over something like this¡­


    Which meant Rheannach wasn¡¯t receiving her thoughts. Which meant something was blocking the Craft.


    Something like, say, a particular brew Ellaenie had invented for the specific purpose of interfering with telepathic powers, and which they had both recently drunk.


    Shit.


    The potion¡¯s development had been long, difficult, and full of setbacks. She¡¯d learned whole chapters of the Craft, and written one or two herself, in perfecting it. She really ought to have expected it would have a few last surprises for her, but¡­well. There was nothing to be done about it now.


    She had, she guessed, no more than an hour or so before the miners came back from their break. The last of them trailed away down the slope just a minute ago, and she could hear laughter and singing around a small, smokey fire away and out of sight. The scent of lobscouse drifted up on the breeze. But then what? She could be half-way to the castle by the time they finished their meal and returned to work, potentially leaving them to achieve their goal


    ¡­Or she could risk taking a look for herself, and trust to her own powers and talents, and perhaps thwart them in the nick of time.


    She slipped out from under the bush and dropped from stone to outcrop down the cliff with her heart pounding so hard it nearly deafened her. Willing all who might look her way to not see her, she slipped in through the mine¡¯s open entrance, and trotted down a shallow slope blasted out by dynamite and ¡°smoothed¡± with picks until it was at least relatively straight and even. Her boots tapped so loudly on the stone it made her flinch, but no challenging call came up to her as she plunged out of the daylight and into a darkness that shocked her not just for its depth, but for the stunning disregard for safety it represented. Crae Vhannog suffered eclipse a couple of times a year on average, and one could never be sure when a passing Wandering Isle or free mote might flicker its shadow across the landscape. The odds of it happening at any moment were tiny. But the consequences if it happened right now¡­


    Her nerve broke. With trembling hands, she stooped, swept up a couple of small stones and lit them, as bright as she could. Fragments mined by human tools wouldn¡¯t hold a charge much more than half an hour, but she didn¡¯t need them to be long-lived, just bright. She reached over her shoulder, tucked one into the thin cloth pouch on the back of her collar, and the other into the matching pouch on her breast.


    She was now standing in the middle of her own private pool of light. So much for stealth. But people she could handle, if they found her. Shades¡­


    She pushed the dread aside and forged on, tracing her fingers along the walls, following the veins of knobbly silvery crystalline ore in the wall. Still, nobody called out to challenge her, and as much as the clicking of her footsteps echoed in the hard stone tunnels, there were no echoes from up ahead. no sound of tools, no voices. She was, it seemed, alone.


    The foreman had spoken truly, she quickly found. The ore was dense here, fractured lines of it running through the stone in such density and randomness that it reminded her of the times her daughter had scrawled on the wall.


    Pickle¡­


    The thought of how dangerous this was hadn¡¯t stopped her for her own sake. But the thought of what it would do to her daughter to suddenly be motherless¡­that nearly stopped her and sent her back. But she was in too deep, now. Too committed. And her destination was just ahead, to judge by, at last, a glow around the bend.


    She emerged into what seemed, at first glance, like a natural cavern. Earthmotes were riddled with such voids. Over on Alakbir, she knew, some such had even been commandeered as sheltered, cool havens to build underground. Long Drop City, for instance. On lower motes, the threat of Eclipse was too great, but mines frequently broke into them.


    This one was too regular, though. The walls were, if not smooth, then at least flat ands quare. Opposite the entrance, silver ore veins shot through the floor, the walls and the ceiling to converge in a single vast knot which surely represented enough silver to buy a whole fleet of airships.


    How had they known this was here? The Thaighns and Lairds of Crae Vhannog certainly hadn¡¯t.


    Questions for later. Now, the Sight was singing like a violin string being scraped constantly, slow and high and quiet. There was something enormously powerful beyond that great plug of ore.


    It could only be one thing. They hadn¡¯t come here to take revenge against Saoirse for her curse after all; they were here for this. Conquering Thaighn Kieran was just a bonus.


    The real prize was surely a Word.


    With a gesture and a mental command, she collected the lantern stones scattered around the chamber. They rattled, rose from the ground, and flew into a tight, swift orbit about her head. She was going to need their power for this¡­and concentration. Geomancy was not her strong suit.


    Ellaenie had come a long way these last eight years. Saoirse¡¯s tutelage had been only the first few steps on the road, and with Rheannach, E?rrach, Dragon and Sayf to guide her, she¡¯d grown great in the Craft.


    But the magic of matter and inanimate objects was the Art¡¯s domain. If not for Lokar, Ellaenie would have been utterly stuck. Now, she silently thanked her fellow Crownspouse as she stiffened her fingers, summoned up the sterile, cold, tasteless magic of the Art, and pushed her fingertips straight into solid rock.


    It split and crumbled like loose sand at her touch. All the pressure was in her head, in the magical field she wove around herself. Nether clavis, first mundane form, sustained arcanum, profound. Like grabbing a cello and scrubbing out the longest, loudest bass note she could until the bow started to fray. Like taking a hammer to the leftmost key of a piano and beating on it until the ivory fractured. It was loud, painful, difficult, exhausting¡­but it let her scoop handfuls of solid rock aside as though she was digging into a dry sand dune.


    In seconds she was elbows deep in the wall, scattering broken handfuls of gravel across the ground behind her. She kicked, gouged, tore, shoved and pulled, grabbed and flung like a mole excavating its home, unheeding and uncaring of the mess she was making of her own skin, clothes and hair. Her arms and shoulders were aching withing seconds but she pushed on, determined that it couldn¡¯t possibly be all that thick, not when the sensation of power from beyond was so¡ª


    Her hand punched right through to the far side, and she forgot all about her fatigue as she redoubled her efforts. Before long she¡¯d excavated a hole large enough to fit through, and she stepped back to recover her breath. A real geomancer would have slapped the wall once and opened a door-sized hole through it with a fraction of the effort and energy¡­but she was through nonetheless. Though, the last of the lampstones was fading, depleted by her wild and unpracticed Art. She heaved a breath, went fishing in her pocket for a charged fetish¡ªa pinecone¡ªlit it, and tossed it through the gap, before squeezing through after it.


    She almost needn¡¯t have bothered with the pinecone. The space beyond shone, reflecting the light in a thousand twinkling shards that would have meant she was perfectly safe even if she¡¯d only relied on her two dim harness-stoness. She was inside a geode of sorts, its interior crusted with cubic ore like the walls were made of a million silver dice. In the space¡¯s heart, a stalactite and stalagmite had met, fusing into a single unbroken colum, though quite thin in the middle.


    She grasped it, exerting her magic just a little more, and it crumbled away. A wooden box fell into her palm in a shower of dusty gravel.


    It wasn¡¯t much to look at, really. The sort of thing one might use to store a brooch or cloak pin. Ellaenie had a dozen rather nicer specimens in her wardrobe. But there was no doubting what she was holding.


    ¡°Winter¡¯s tits¡­¡±


    She hadn¡¯t come here for this. She¡¯d come here to drop off Dennis where he¡¯d be safe before returning to the Oasis. Now, here she was, some distance underground, and a Word of Creation was now¡­hers.


    And it was clearly what the masked man sought. So why had it been left unguarded? Could he be that arrogant? That confident? Could it be he didn¡¯t really know what he was seeking? Who was he?


    And which Word was in this particular box?


    Carefully, delicately, guided by some premonition whose origin she couldn¡¯t identify, she drew on the Sight. The box¡¯s surface was covered in shifting rune-letters, quite invisible to ordinary eyes for the moment. But to a witch¡¯s sight, they were as clear as if they were carved into the wood.


    She couldn¡¯t help herself. For a moment, she forgot that she was on borrowed time, and played with them, dragging them around with her finger. As she did they shifted and changed. Sometimes, they seemed to merge and react to each other, as though part of their meaning was in proximity to their matching fellows. But the thing that drew Ellaenie deeper, made her deaf and blind to the world around her, was the certainty that she understood these things. Somehow¡­she knew how they wanted to be, and what they wanted to say. Moving them into their proper location didn¡¯t feel like solving a puzzle, it felt like remembering the combination to a forgotten childhood lockbox she¡¯d just dug out of a drawer.


    She knew this feeling. It came from a place deep inside her that E?rrach had touched and profoundly changed in some small way, years ago on the day she¡¯d first met him. Had he¡­foreseen this?


    She completed the puzzle. The runes were all aligned now, and contented, if that was an apt word. They were where they wanted to be, forming a lattice of energies¡­


    Of course. She almost laughed at the simple brilliance of it. The Crowns had wanted the words to be opened and read in due time, by one who was ready for them. All these layers of security were a test, to see if the person holding the box was the right kind of person.


    And Ellaenie was. She knew what was inside this lockbox, now. And the moment the understanding reached her, it clicked in her palm and tried to open.


    ¡°No,¡± she told it, and held it shut. ¡°No. I don¡¯t want you. I have enough. I almost have too much. And you¡¯re not the right word for me, anyway. You can be somebody else¡¯s.¡±


    ¡°How very generous of you, Your Grace,¡± a faintly muffled voice said.


    Ellaenie whirled. The masked man was leaning rakishly in the hole she¡¯d dug, his painted white visage almost seeming to take on a mocking smirk despite its impassive, fixed expression as he tilted his head at her.


    Ellaenie recoiled from him. She¡¯d glanced at him with the Sight wide open and sensitive, and everything about him screamed menace. Here was a man with his demon uncaged and embraced; she could see his dark eyes flick up and down, appraising the curve of her figure and the tightness of her coat over her breasts. She could see the way his fingers twitched delicately, eager to draw the sword from his cane and take the pleasure of murdering her. The mask disguised his malice only a little: she wouldn¡¯t be leaving this chamber alive, if he had his way.


    The manners he displayed by using her title, the courtly bow he gave her, the polite way he held out his hand and invited her to hand over the box¡­all of it was a mocking affectation, the feline impulse to torment prey. Or¡­


    No. No, the gleeful spite of a gambler slow-rolling his cards, drawing out his victory for as long as possible so he could savor it.


    She saw all of this in the instant he made eye contact with her.


    He saw her see it.


    There was a blur, steel flashed in the glittering geode, and he drove the point of his sword into Ellaenie¡¯s throat.


    <hr>


    <blockquote>


    ¡°Shield Wall is a simple game, but popular among airshipmen. The player lays down a ¡°wall¡± of four cards in front of them, and keeps two cards in their hand. On their turn, they may swap a card from hand to wall, or discard a card from their hand to ¡°attack¡± another player¡¯s wall. If the attacking card is of a suit not present in the defender¡¯s wall, or if the defending player declines to defend, its full value is taken in points: otherwise, the value of the defending card is subtracted. Both the attacking card and the defending card (if any) are then discarded and replaced from the draw pile. In this way, the players go back and forth until the draw pile is depleted, and the player with the most points at the end of the game is the winner.¡± ¡ªRaman Ojupta, Games and Pastimes.


    </blockquote>


    <h2>At the dinner table</h2>


    The airship Cavalier Queen, en route to St¨®rsteinn 09.06.03.10.02


    ¡°Seems like everyone has an opinion, nay?¡±


    ¡°Seems so¡­Derghan. Nine of blades.¡±


    ¡°Five of blades, four points.¡±


    Jerl nodded, marked his score sheet, and drew a replacement card¡ªKnight of coins. Nice. ¡°I told him to shove it up his arse. In, y¡¯know, more respectful terms than that. He is a Herald.¡±


    ¡°The Shisha¡¯s always been an odd one,¡± Sin pointed out, swapping a card from her wall to her hand. ¡°Sometimes, he tempts people with the wrong course, just to get a read on them.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve spoken with him before?¡± Amir asked, likewise swapping out his wall.


    ¡°He came to me a lot, in the bad old days. At the time, I thought he enjoyed watching me work. Looking back, he was pretty clearly trying to get me to see what I was. The Shisha¡¯s one of the good ones, even if he has his weird ways.¡±


    ¡°Even Heralds can get it wrong, though¡­¡± Derghan pointed out, before laying down a card. ¡°Jerl, two of shields.¡±


    ¡°No block.¡±


    ¡°Dammit,¡± Amir had a terrible game face, and Jerl¡¯s decision not to block with his high card had clearly just thwarted his plan. ¡°¡­Sin, Duke of Crops.¡±


    ¡°Ten of Crops, three points.¡±


    ¡°M-hmm. And¡­yes, Heralds can get it wrong. But not often. I should give his words more careful thought, Jerl.¡±


    ¡°His words were effectively that I shouldn¡¯t worry too much about it if I get you all killed,¡± Jerl pointed out, swapping a card out of his wall.


    ¡°I don¡¯t think that¡¯s quite true,¡± Amir disagreed. ¡°There is always that difference between what the speaker thinks he means, and what the listener thinks he heard, is there not?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know how else to interpret ¡®go ahead and make lots of mistakes, you can always undo them,¡¯¡± Jerl replied, while Sin and Derghan exchanged a couple of low-value attacking cards.


    ¡°Oh, I agree. Even if I don¡¯t remember dying over and over again, I would still very much prefer not to,¡± Amir nodded. ¡°After all, if one of your future courses involves my death, there is a non-zero chance it will be the one where we win. I for one would prefer to live to see our victory.¡±


    ¡°Everyone dies,¡± Derghan pointed out.


    ¡°And I would much rather do it at, say, the age of a hundred and four, surrounded by grieving great-grandchildren.¡± Amir flashed a small smile Derghan¡¯s way. ¡°Not unreasonable, surely?¡±


    ¡°Suppose not¡­Out of cards. Who won?¡±


    ¡°Sinikka, by two points,¡± Amir replied, promptly. ¡°Another hand?¡±


    ¡°Sure.¡± Jerl handed the deck to Sin, who riffled and shuffled them with hands so practiced not even Mouse could match them.


    Speaking of Mouse, he was sitting the game out over on Jerl¡¯s bunk, reading a book. They¡¯d tried to include him in card games, but Mind granted too unfair an advantage. He looked up as the first cards were dealt. ¡°He does have a point, though,¡± he said.


    ¡°Who, The Shisha?¡±


    Mouse gave him a level look. ¡°No, Jerl. Whopty Flopty Bunny, the beloved children¡¯s book character.¡±


    Jerl snorted, and aimed a vulgar finger at his lover while the other three chuckled.


    ¡°What point?¡± Sin asked.


    ¡°That Civorage will always see us coming if we don¡¯t so something a little bit mad every so often. I certainly could.¡±


    ¡°You could?¡± Derghan asked.


    ¡°Oh yeah. Easily. Mind is like that. You may as well try and outrun your own shadow. So long as we always do what¡¯s carefully planned out and rational, he¡¯ll be several steps ahead. The Shisha¡¯s right, the only way we¡¯ll get around that is¡­¡±


    ¡°By doing dumb shit,¡± Derghan grunted.


    ¡°Not dumb shit. Just non-obvious shit.¡±


    ¡°Okay, so¡­examples?¡± Jerl looked around the room. Sin shrugged, Derghan shook his head, Mouse¡¯s face creased into a thoughtful scowl, and Amir twisted the point of his goatee between thumb and index finger. He gave them a minute, but no-one seemed to have an answer.


    ¡°¡­Right. It¡¯s a lot easier to talk about than to actually do, isn¡¯t it? I don¡¯t plan on being predictable, don¡¯t get me wrong. But coming up with an unexpected play is something you do when the moment¡¯s right. You don¡¯t plan to ride weatherfronts, you grab the wheel and feel your way once one arrives. Besides. We came up with the plan to steal Mind didn¡¯t we? And it succeeded!¡±


    ¡°We got caught, if you remember,¡± Amir pointed out. ¡°Civorage laid a trap for us. And we fell into it completely. The only reason we escaped was because you somehow knew the safe combination.¡±


    ¡°Time beats Mind,¡± Derghan mused. ¡°¡­Fuckin¡¯ poetic, that.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not a giant game of stone-sheaf-shears, Derg,¡± said Mouse.


    ¡°No,¡± Jerl agreed, ¡°but in this case he¡¯s right-ish.¡±


    ¡°Hey?¡± Derghan asked.


    ¡°Well, Amir just mentioned the real reason I¡¯m not going to listen to the Shisha¡ªhis advice is redundant. I¡¯ve seen time like a landscape from high above. I¡¯ve seen the way its paths branch and merge. I don¡¯t really remember the details now the Word is gone, but in that moment of vision and clarity? I left myself enough clues. Clues like the combination to the safe, and like not swearing Ekve to Chal-an-chal. I don¡¯t need to practice making mistakes and doing unexpected things, because¡­¡±


    ¡°Because you¡¯ve already charted a course.¡±


    ¡°Right. The thing to do now is hold the course, come what may, and trust my own plan. Even though not knowing all the details is part of the plan.¡±


    He blinked, then looked out the window. ¡°¡­Oh.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± Sin asked, tensing.


    ¡°¡­Deja vu. Or¡­hmm. No. A moment just arrived. I remember being here, and saying those words. It¡¯s a significant moment.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll say¡­¡± Mouse agreed, going wide-eyed all of a sudden. ¡°Can you feel that?¡±


    ¡°Not like you can, I bet. But yes.¡±


    ¡°Feel what?¡± Derghan asked, frowning back and forth between them. Jerl and Mouse shared a private smile, and Jerl took up his pipe and lit it, puffing with a certain satisfaction.


    ¡°There¡¯s a new Wordspeaker,¡± he said.


    <hr>


    <blockquote>


    On Crae Baragh can be found the circle of Hertemcof (Feydh: long-time-knowledge), a set of standing stones carved deep with the very oldest runes. Four great ones bearing the runes of E?rrach, Talvi, Haust and Sayf¡­and three attendant stones per Crown-stone.


    </blockquote>


    This implies twelve Heralds, yet only eight are known today. What has become of the other four?


    And why do the Crowns not speak of them? ¡ªAnoloa Nwodike, The Heralds


    <h2>The Word Chamber,</h2>


    Crae Vhannog 09.06.03.10.02


    Ellaenie stared into the masked man¡¯s eyes. She watched them widen, first in confusion, then disbelief, then anger.


    She raised her hand and, very gently, pushed the sword¡¯s tip aside, feeling it scrape across skin that was suddenly as hard and unyielding as chainmail. In her hand, the Word¡¯s vault clicked as she willed it to close again.


    ¡°¡­That shouldn¡¯t be possible,¡± he croaked. ¡°I have luck! **You¡¯re not supposed to¡ªto¡­¡±


    ¡°There are other forces besides luck,¡± Ellaenie told him. It wasn¡¯t just an idle rejoinder, it was¡­so utterly, profoundly true. Crowns, was this what the world really looked like? This tenuous net flowing through everything, even through the ground, the crystals, the tree roots.


    Energy surged through the masked man as he became apoplectic: he drew back his sword and brought it slashing down with a cry of thwarted rage, but though the blade¡¯s razor edge slashed straight through her jacket and blouse, it glanced off Ellaenie¡¯s skin with a sharp click, stinging no more than a willow branch.


    Utterly furious now, weeping with frustration, he grabbed her by the wrist and tried to drag her off her feet, throw her to the ground. Crowns alone knew what he had planned, but Ellaenie was having none of it.


    ¡°No.¡±


    She put all the force of her Glamer and Craft behind it, and something else surged along for the ride. Something like a lightning strike that sparked off her and threw him across the room and right through the tiny entrance she¡¯d excavated.


    Somehow, he rolled through the landing and sprang to his feet with an agility that would have shamed an elf, even though his clothes were smoking from the blast. How?! That should have killed him!


    Except¡­Oh. Shit. He hadn¡¯t said he had luck. He¡¯d said he had Luck.


    He was a Wordspeaker.


    ¡°You might be able to harden your hide, duchess, but I will have what I want!¡± he declared, stooping to pick up a stone and throw it at her. Before Ellaenie could react, it had hit her in the eye. She recoiled and clutched at her face, startled rather than actually hurt, but he darted forward and smacked at her hand, trying to jar the box loose. She willed it to not leave her, and felt it adhere to her skin as though glued to her palm.


    Then his hand was on her throat, squeezing tight. She hardened her skin, made it stiff and rigid, but that came with its own problems, and even though he was skinny and tall he still had the startling strength of an enraged man. She swatted at him, struck his jaw, tried to claw his face with her fingernails, but his long arms held her at bay and the lightning strikes she summoned all seemed to miss him by a hair. They flashed wildly around the chamber leaving glowing streaks and glassy patches on the walls.


    Luck. He¡¯d claimed Luck. Fortune would always turn out in his favor, maybe. And though Ellaenie might be impervious to harm now, that still left capture, unconsciousness or being buried alive as real and terrible possibilities. She kicked her booted feet up at his belly and struggled as he drove her back against the wall.


    Rheannach! Help!!


    He had her pinned now, and all her struggling didn¡¯t seem to achieve a jot. His mask was still serene, its painted lips looking almost like he intended to kiss her¡­but the dark eyes behind it were mad and murderous. He raised his sword and leveled its point at her face.


    ¡°Let¡¯s see how tough you can make those pretty green eyes¡­¡± he hissed.


    ¡°Let go!¡± she snapped in the voice of suggestion and bewitchment, drawing on the only fetish available to her: the box in her palm.


    Incredible, uncontrollable power surged up and out of it. Terrifying, dangerous, overwhelming power. She could feel it try to shrivel her, feel it try to destroy her. She¡¯d made a terrible mistake and activated one of its safeguards.


    But Ellaenie was a witch trained and blessed by the Crowns themselves, and a Wordspeaker now. Though the power bit and fried her, she rode it, diverted it, converted it, used it and turned it against her foe instead. The words lashed out of her mouth with a staggering psychic force that even his luck and the protections of a Wordspeaker couldn¡¯t resist: his grip on her throat loosened, his sword clattered to the ground. Ellaenie scrambled away, but the masked man¡¯s gloved hand caught her collar before she could rise.


    ¡°Give! Me! The! Box!¡±


    Ellaenie fought like a terrified cat. She writhed, clawed, would have bit if she could. It didn¡¯t work. He couldn¡¯t hurt her, but she couldn¡¯t win, and¡ª


    He struck her hard in the back of the head with a rock, and for all that her skin was now impenetrable, the blow cut out all thought, all ideas. The world swam, her ears rang, darkness tried to flood in through her eyes and drown her. She fought it back, willed herself to remain conscious, but her legs were jelly and her arms refused to work.


    She landed in the dirt and looked up in time to see him raise the rock again.


    There was a sound like doom landing. With a splintering, geological crunch, the chamber roof parted and something black and white and terrible smashed down and left cracks in the floor. Rheannach straightened, furling her wings and extending a hand to her side. There was a sizzle, the air seemed to shriek, and she drew her sword out of it as though empty space was her scabbard.


    There were songs about that sword, Ellaenie¡¯s dazed and abused brain supplied inappropriately. Its name was Scorn. Legend said its blade would only cut hearts and inflicted the pain of betrayed love, but right now it just looked like a clean, straight, very sharp piece of excellent steel.


    Rheannach wasted no time with threats or demands. She lunged and thrust, going straight for the kill. Somehow, the masked man twisted aside at the last second, throwing Ellaenie in the dirt as he did so. Seemingly by accident his boot caught his dropped blade and made it leap ringing into the air to almost fall into his hand.


    Ellaenie dragged herself away and fought to recover her wits as the duel began, but she was too concussed to think about the right things. The thought that loomed up stupidly to eclipse all others was that the masked man was no swordsman at all. Why, Ellaenie herself had achieved better form as a little girl playing with sticks! His footwork was horrific, his balance nonexistent, his grip completely wrong¡­


    And yet, though he flailed his sword completely at random like a man trying to ward off a swarm of bees, he perfectly parried and evaded every one of Rheannach¡¯s strikes. Though the Herald was a flawless duellist, despite her millennia of perfecting this art and despite her superior speed and strength¡­he bested her. In a confused moment that left all three people in the room blinking in shock, his random waggling of the sword somehow became an absolutely textbook parry, riposte and thrust. The blade sank half-way deep into Rheannach¡¯s chest, right through the heart.


    ¡°Huh.¡± The masked man looked the stricken Herald in the eye, then giggled softly and pulled the sword out again. ¡°Not so terrible after all, Lady Raksuul!¡± he crowed.


    Rheannach just flashed a small, cruel smile, with ice in her gaze. Without deigning to speak, she raised her sword again and took her guard. The wound had closed immediately when he withdrew the blade, leaving only a tiny rip in her tunic and nary a drop of blood to stain skin, steel or cloth.


    The masked man paused. ¡°¡­Ah.¡±


    Rheannach attacked again. This time, she abandoned niceties like defence, accepting every sting his blade could give her as irrelevant¡ªno matter how grievously he cut or stabbed her, the wound vanished as quickly as it was made. Scorn flashed and rained down, and though the masked man danced and parried and dodged and blocked every single stroke in his utterly hapless, off-balance, untalented way, it was clear to Ellaenie that Luck could not triumph over mounting fatigue and an unwoundable opponent.


    The same thought clearly occurred to him. One second, Rheannach was lunging in with a stroke that should have slain him, but the instant Scorn touched him, he¡­simply wasn¡¯t there.


    Rheannach came up short, whirled, looked around, but he was entirely gone. There was not even any sound of footsteps running away through the mines. It was like¡­


    ¡°Like he¡¯s¡­used the old paths¡­¡± Ellaenie muttered, dazedly. Rheannach was at her side as she spoke, her face full of worry.


    ¡°Ellie¡­why did you come here alone? That was stupid!¡±


    ¡°Necessary¡­¡± Ellaenie replied. ¡°Couldn¡¯t hear you. Couldn¡¯t¡­the potion, it¡­stops us from¡­¡± the words came slow, as though she was having to pull them up out of thick treacle or deep mud. Though, they grew easier when Rheannach put a hand to her brow and exerted some healing magic. The world became crisper and clearer again, the fog cleared from her rattled brains. ¡°Okay. Okay, thanks. That¡¯s better. I¡¯m okay.¡±


    Rheannach sat back and exhaled. ¡°Is that¡ª?¡± she indicated the box.


    ¡°I spoke it.¡±


    ¡°I thought you didn¡¯t want to be a Wordspeaker?¡±


    Ellaenie shook her head. Even with the healing, she still felt shaky, sick, and jittery. But she was, at least, healed enough for the rational voice that always seemed to float above and behind her thoughts to remind her, that was normal for somebody who¡¯d just been desperately fighting for her life a minute ago. ¡°It was that or die,¡± she said.


    Rheannach hugged her tight.


    ¡°¡­Please don¡¯t scare me like that again,¡± she whispered, kissing Ellaenie¡¯s hair and shivering.


    ¡°If it¡¯s any consolation¡­I just got a lot more difficult to hurt,¡± Ellaenie replied around a hiccup.


    It was a weak joke, but it made Rheannach laugh, sort of. She sat back and looked at the box again.


    ¡°Which one is it?¡±


    ¡°Four-Current.¡±


    Rheannach blinked at her, nonplussed. ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s¡­as close to its name as I can get it Garanese. It¡¯s not like Time or Mind or Luck. It¡¯s¡­something deeper than that. Or¡­more distant. Something that¡¯s hidden from normal experience.¡± Even as she considered it, the box opened again, and she saw she had only lightly brushed against the outermost surface of the Word¡¯s potential. Hardening her skin? Winter¡¯s tits, she could have done so much more! She could have stopped his sword and jammed it dead in the air, immobile. She could have reduced that ridiculous white party mask to dust. She could have flung gravel at him like rifle bullets.


    She sighed, frustrated. ¡°It¡¯s the power of electricity,¡± she said. ¡°But also light. And magnetism. And the hardness of things, and the forces acting on them, and more that I don¡¯t have the words to¡­they¡¯re all the same thing.¡±


    ¡°How did you know that was in the box to open it?¡±


    ¡°I just¡­looked with the Sight, and knew.¡±


    Rheannach pursed her lips thoughtfully, then laughed. ¡°¡­Pan.¡±


    ¡°Huh?¡±


    ¡°My husband. He¡¯s the only one who could give you that power, he must have done it when he initiated you.¡± She shook her head and grinned fondly. ¡°Even I¡¯m fooled by the big meathead-of-the-woods look, sometimes. He¡¯s far more cunning and foresighted than he likes to pretend.¡±


    ¡°¡­I think you¡¯re right,¡± Ellaenie agreed. ¡°Pan? I¡¯ve not heard that name for him before.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s my pet name for him. It means¡­everything. All-encompassing. In a very old language.¡±


    ¡°Fitting,¡± Ellaenie murmured, still feeling a bit rattled in the head. Now that the concussion was past, it was dawning on her how close she¡¯d come to death, and a shiver ran through her as she remembered the wild hate in her foe¡¯s eyes. That had been too close, much too close.


    Rheannach exhaled, calming herself. ¡°Well. Four-Current? It¡¯s not the Word I¡¯d have chosen for you, if ever I had a choice. But it saved your life, so you¡¯ll hear no complaint from me,¡± Rheannach said. She stood and helped Ellaenie to her feet. ¡°Come on. We¡¯d best leave.¡±


    They took the front exit. After all, what was anyone going to do? Shoot them? Ellaenie now had impenetrable skin, and Rheannach was an immortal being. Sure enough, there was a squad of mercenaries arrayed against them when they emerged, but the moment they saw who had emerged, several of the men took a step back and lowered their weapons. Ellaenie caught them whispering Rheannach¡¯s various names among themselves.


    The masked man glanced left and right as his mercenaries wavered, then turned his impassive visage to them. ¡°¡­So what happens now?¡±


    ¡°You tried to kill my Maiden,¡± Rheannach told him, taking a step forward. Scorn crackled in her hand as the righteous anger of a mother seethed along its blade.


    ¡°You can¡¯t kill me, Lady Herald.¡±


    ¡°And you can¡¯t kill me. But I can reduce that fancy ship of yours to splinters.¡±


    ¡°Go ahead. It¡¯ll turn out the better for me,¡± he replied. ¡°Things always do. I have Luck.¡±


    ¡°If that¡¯s so, then why are you so enraged by losing this Word?¡± Ellaenie asked. ¡°If things always work out the better for you, then maybe this is to your advantage as well.¡±


    ¡°Hmm! True!¡± The masked man tilted his head, then bowed with a flourish. ¡°Until next we meet, then.¡±


    ¡°Wait.¡± Ellaenie stepped forward. ¡°You tried to kill me, and I¡¯m not going to forget that. But you¡¯re a Wordspeaker. And there¡¯s Nils Civorage out there, a common enemy. We should at least¡ª¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t bother, Duchess. The enemy of my enemy is just another gambler at the table, and this game is winner-takes-all. I¡¯m not interested in an alliance.¡±


    ¡°Stand alone, lose alone,¡± Rheannach warned him.


    ¡°I¡¯ll take that chance.¡± Somehow, he contrived to flash a cocky smile despite his face remaining unseen.


    ¡°And Caisteal Vhannog?¡±


    He flapped a hand. ¡°Irrelevant. You have the prize I created that distraction for.¡±


    ¡°You burned crops, ransacked the land. You think you can just walk away?¡±


    ¡°Yes. And neither of you can stop me.¡± He took a step back. There was a moment when his appearance in Ellaenie¡¯s Sight seemed to snap, stretch, double. As though he was briefly in two places at once, one of them distant.


    Then the space he¡¯d been standing was empty, and she could no longer sense him. The Mercenaries all gasped, backed away from the spot he¡¯d just vacated and made warding gestures. After a second, the nearest of them threw down their weapons and knelt, bowing their heads to Rheannach and stammering out their contrition.


    Ellaenie left them to it and wandered away a few paces. How had he done that? She knew how to step between distant places herself, by the hidden paths. But the masked man had just¡­decided to be somewhere else. That wasn¡¯t Luck, was it? Surely it couldn¡¯t be?


    ¡­Could it? She fished in her pocket and found the Word vault. It clicked open at her touch, and the power of Four-Current suffused her again, expanded her awareness and understanding. It was such a huge, important, broad thing. Reducing it down to Electricity or Magnetism or any single such word as that would be an insulting reduction. Maybe it was the same for Luck? Maybe what the masked man actually had was something far greater and more fundamental, and he was just selfish, blithe or dishonest enough (or all three) to reduce it so.


    She held up her left hand and let sparks crackle between her fingertips. Lightning. She could play with lightning, now. Or shape it. With a flick of her fingers, the lightning became simple light, a cold ball of it dancing from fingertip to fingertip. With a twitch of will that had nothing to do with magical telekinesis at all, she reached out and effortlessly retrieved quite a large rock from several dozen yards away. It spun above her palm as she considered what it could become, if she only willed it to be so. Its matter was hers to play with, now. What should she do with it? She could make something beautiful, something musical, something whimsical¡ª


    She frowned, noticing her own thoughts, and wondered if this was the path Civorage had gone down. She felt giddy, almost drunk on the sheer potential the Word represented, even though just minutes ago she¡¯d claimed to not want it. But now she had it, the desire to use it was powerful indeed. It would be so easy to say ¡®why not?¡¯ and play.


    But perhaps the rock was most beautiful exactly as it already was.


    ¡­No, that wasn¡¯t it. That was a silly thought, too. It was more that it wouldn¡¯t serve anything other than Ellaenie¡¯s own whim to do anything with it. Suddenly, she wasn¡¯t looking at the rock any more, but into the distant past, visiting a memory.


    She¡¯d been twelve. It had been a frozen season in Enerlend, as Garanhir had dipped unusually low in its orbit bringing about a long several months of snow and ice. And Ellaenie, deprived of the opportunity to go riding or walking, had been going stir-crazy inside the palace. She¡¯d visited her father in his study out of sheer boredom, looking for something to do while they waited out the freeze.


    He¡¯d been signing orders to distribute food and fuel from the strategic reserves to the poorest districts. She couldn¡¯t remember most of the conversation now, but she remembered the way he¡¯d explained the why of it, the duty of it.


    He¡¯d led her to the window, and pointed outwards. ¡°You see down there? See the chimneys smoking? Each of those represents a life, Ellie. If those hearths go out in this weather, then people die. People who love their parents and children just as much as we love each other. People to whom the Crowns gave life, who deserve to live, not freeze to death.¡±


    He let her absorb just how many thin pillars of smoke were out there, and how delicate each one was, then returned to his desk.


    ¡°You¡¯ll have a choice, when you take my place,¡± he told her, little suspecting the fateful day would come all too soon. ¡°You can indulge your power and wealth on parties and politics and pleasure, and that¡¯s what many poor people, and many rich for that matter, believe we do. They see our privileges and imagine that the point of all this¡ª¡± he waved a hand vaguely at the ducal palace and its luxurious contents ¡°¡ªis to jealously guard it. But that would be the selfish road. The way of parasites. You must be a duchess. And the difference is, whenever power and wealth find you¡ªas they will, because we already have so much and like begets like¡ªwhenever they do, your first thought must always be how you can be of service with it. Sometimes, being of service will mean throwing an elegant ball in sumptuous surroundings, for the sake of alliance and diplomacy. Other times it will mean paying for a million sacks of coal.¡±


    Ellaenie dropped the rock back into the dirt, unaltered. She would have to practice with her new powers, of course, to find their limits and how best to use them. But here and now, it would only be an indulgence. She refocused on Rheannach, who was talking softly with a mercenary officer.


    Whatever they had discussed, it seemed to be to the Herald¡¯s satisfaction. The men were already retreating down the hill toward their airships, and sending out runners to other units. Rheannach dusted her hands off with a small smile, and turned to Ellaenie.


    ¡°Thus ends the siege of Caisteal Vhannog,¡± she said. ¡°The whole thing was just a distraction, buying time to dig here.¡±


    ¡°I figured as much,¡± Ellaenie agreed. ¡°Kieran should be relieved.¡±


    ¡°Mm.¡± Rheannach looked thoughtfully up into the sky. ¡°I don¡¯t like the appearance of a new ¡®gambler at the table.¡¯¡±


    ¡°Me either. But, at least he isn¡¯t Civorage.¡±


    ¡°He could be worse. I saw his heart, I don¡¯t think there¡¯s any chance of him coming around.¡±


    Ellaenie sighed. She¡¯d seen much the same thing, loath as she was to admit it. As much as her heart wanted to believe otherwise, she¡¯d had a good look at the masked man¡¯s eyes. And his beast wasn¡¯t caged in the least. Whatever cage there might be in his soul contained only the gnawed bones of the rational, compassionate man who might have been. Now, there was only hunger.


    ¡°¡­Let¡¯s get Dennis up to the caisteal and go home,¡± she said. Suddenly, she missed her daughter terribly.


    Rheannach nodded, unfurled her wings, and extended a hand to offer to fly them. Ellaenie gladly accepted, and in moments they were winging high over the trampled, damaged ground and siegeworks. It would take Crae Vhannog a long while to recover from this attack¡­but they had arrived in the nick of time. Perhaps Luck wasn¡¯t as much on the masked man¡¯s side as he thought.


    And that, Ellaenie decided as they angled down toward the caisteal, was an encouraging thought.

 Chapter 14: Darkness

    Chapter 14: Darkness


    <blockquote>


    ¡°Well, far be it for me to tell the dukes and duchesses what they may believe, of course. I¡¯m simply remarking that it seems very strange they all converted to Oneism so quickly. Could it really be so wonderful? It seems unlikely¡­¡± ¡ªBaron Erard of Avon, overheard at Lady Challeus¡¯ salon shortly before his disappearance.


    </blockquote>


    <h2>On the wing</h2>


    Above the lake, E?rrach¡¯s mote 09.06.03.10.03


    Rheannach landed lightly on the pebbles and folded her wings in, an exercise which always felt a bit like tucking an extra pair of arms into a tight coat. They were comfortable enough once they were away, but the act of doing so was just slightly uncomfortable, as was the act of extending them.


    E?rrach was bathing in the lake. It was ridiculous, really. He didn¡¯t look remotely buoyant, and a man of his legendary thew ought to have found it easier to walk along the bottom than swim. But then again, his precise apparent density was entirely a matter of his will. He could choose how much his presence affected the world, or even how it affected particular individuals, so¡­if he wanted to swim, then swim he did.


    So did Rheannach, for that matter. As he splashed toward her waving, she reached up, unfastened her clothes, and let them drop around her ankles, before wading out to join him. They met, and kissed. He took her in his arms, swirled her around, and from there¡­


    Give and take. She gave herself, he took her*.* Then he gave himself, all of himself just for her, and she took him.


    As ever, it was almost too much. He rode the utmost limit of her tolerance perfectly, drove her incoherent almost instantly and held her there for a long, passionate day on the soft grass under the open sky. His reinforcing strength poured into her and the ground beneath them as he pinned her fiercely, smashing her into his body with enough force to crush mountains to powder. The world beneath very literally moved for them, rocking to and fro under the roll of his hips, every thrust forcing out her breath and rearranging her insides around his godly manhood. Her first orgasm had hit almost immediately, and burst every living plant on the mote into premature bloom. Everything after that was a blur, until after a long day of loving her insensate, his own climax eventually hit, setting off an avalanche on the slopes of his private mountain.


    And with that, as each pulse drove more and more of his might into her, she no longer had limits. She, alone of all beings in the world, could handle everything he had to offer. It was his particular gift to her, and to himself. Not even the Crowns themselves could experience King E?rrach in his fullness. The world of matter and energy was merely where they started; their melding, as his ongoing orgasm brought them into union infinitely beyond mortal experience, transcended time itself. It lasted seconds, minutes, hours, weeks, and eternities, all at once.


    He was as gentle as petals falling on still water, and violent enough even in his smallest, laziest motions to shatter worlds without any effort. Time had little hold on them in this state and they brought each other wordless, nigh-infinite ecstasy, starting in the heat of sweat and muscles and aching pleasure and immeasurable strength, and stretching across realms of reality that could only be felt rather than understood. He rolled his perfect, maximum physique against her, crushing her own effectively indestructible body inside and out with power that was too vast to be understood. He did so with the most trivial of effort and all but destroyed her with every rhythmic, unstoppable thrust, like he was merely molding soft clay. In the very next not-instant she was whole and unbroken, tenderness rolling off him so powerfully that, too, could have erased her, had he not made her strong enough to withstand his most focused, unrestrained attentions.


    Then again, and again. He enveloped her very soul into his own, together in a place where people were immaterial and total communion of spirit was as simple as beholding one another. Her, a tiny, bright spark against the raging, impossibly bright near-infinity that was his own inner light. She was so tiny next to the truth of him, she could disappear into his being and it would make no noticeable difference to anyone else.


    But he would never let that happen. His was the power to create universes. And to destroy them. And she, simultaneously, was destroyed by him¡­and ruled him by opening herself to him. For in that power was his love of all that was precious, beautiful, tiny and infinitely worthwhile¡ªall of them. On that day of creation he fell in love with them all, where his virility sired and manifested a million human souls all at once by Queen Talvi, the elves likewise by Lady Haust, along with the countless billions of animals across all of creation, great and small, numerous or rare, in an single act of primal, ritual fertility.


    Against such a being, one who wielded such unspeakable power, yet who could not help but love all those around him? She was at once utterly helpless, and completely in control. What he gave her, what she took from him, was exactly what she wanted. And had she bade him stop, it all would have been over, instantly.


    The thought never even crossed her mind.


    By the time they¡¯d found the end of it, which might have been hours or weeks later, they¡¯d sent psychic waves of lust, love and pleasure across all of creation. There would be many, many children conceived from their influence. She liked that idea. It warmed her almost as much as his furnace-like heat did as she lay on his slab-like chest and traced lazy circles across his skin with her fingertip, back in the world of the comparatively normal, of rules and physics and limitations.


    Well¡­not quite. They lay together awhile in a bubble of altered spacetime, that he might enjoy his physical unrestraint with her without endangering the world. It was here, and only here in moments like this, where should could properly grasp at the reality of what he was. And only here where she could withstand such awareness, awash in his love and protection.


    ¡°You are so achingly beautiful,¡± he rumbled, contentedly. They were still deeply joined, and even still he was pouring his power into her almost as powerfully as at the start. She briefly considered provoking him to round two¡­


    Instead she stretched up, touched her nose to his, breathed slowly, then stretched just an inch further. Their lips lingered.


    ¡°Your perfect woman,¡± she reminded him.


    ¡°Mhm¡­¡±


    ¡°¡­And you¡¯re my perfect man.¡±


    He said nothing, but his dark eyes glittered as he looked into hers for a moment. He knew it was a complicated reality for her. He did understand.


    She sighed, happily. ¡°And I am thankful for it.¡±


    He held her tight, a loving little squeeze from him, but with the strength to crush worlds. ¡°And so am I.¡±


    Their words untied a last, lingering mutual knot of tension that even immortal passion had failed to release, and they finally relaxed truly and completely. The bubble strained against the force of his being, but held, as it always had. For a time that was no time at all and yet pleasantly forever they just¡­basked. It was exactly what she needed, exactly what she had long wanted.


    But of course, the King was insatiable. He stirred within her, driving out her breath with his sheer magnificent size. The King grinned savagely, and being who he was¡­


    Resolutely physical for the next many rounds in his embrace. Long, long almost-time passed as he played her like a fine instrument on the one hand, and the most savage of drums on the other.


    But even for them, these beautiful moments had to end. At long last he was satisfied, and they held each other in the embrace that only comes after the deepest passion.


    ¡°¡­How do you do it?¡± She asked eventually, and ran her fingers through his thick, glossy mane. It was her favorite part of him, really. Every other aspect of him had a terrible, overwhelmingly maximum beauty, from his physique to his personality through to his power and into his very soul, all of which unfolded and amplified within the bubble far, far beyond anything he¡¯d ever revealed elsewhere in the Nested Worlds. But not his hair. It was the one part of him that was both perfectly him and yet still within the realm of human, even never having ever seen a mane on another man quite so¡­well, luxuriant.


    He smiled back at her, nuzzling into her hand as it stroked his locks. ¡°Hmm?¡±


    She hesitated, not wanting to ruin the moment. But, no: she knew better, and simply asked.


    ¡°How can you bear such¡­restraint? I know what you are, Pan. The effort it must take¡ª!¡±


    ¡°Entirely worth it, even if it does feel¡­¡± he groped for a word for a moment, then grinned sheepishly. ¡°Uh, itchy. I guess.¡±


    ¡°Itchy.¡± She poked his nose, playing at being nonplussed. Enjoyed that, for this moment, with the power of countless galaxies flowing through her, she could dent and push at him as if he were a mortal man, wearing mortal flesh.


    And not the power of a universe given form.


    ¡°Mhm. Itchy. Like a too-tight coat you don¡¯t dare take off. Or a rough sweater against bare skin.¡±


    ¡°Do I at least scratch that itch?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re the only one who can. Anyone else in this little bubble o¡¯ mine would be destroyed if I let go too much. But not you. With you¡­I can let go.¡±


    ¡°It feels like being destroyed, almost. And being put back together, over and over. It¡­hurts. In a good way.¡±


    ¡°¡­I didn¡¯t know that,¡± he frowned. ¡°I must see if I can improve on that, somehow.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t you dare! I like it¡±


    He shot her a bewildered look, and Rheannach reflected that, for all that he contained, he was very much a male being. There were some things he just wasn¡¯t able to understand. And that thought rather pleased her. Some little fenced-off corner of divine energy was hers to know, while he was forever shut out. Despite his incomprehensible vastness, he was still a finite being. Not all things were his.


    ¡°Are you sure? Truth be told, I¡¯d take the excuse to talk to an ancient friend again, anyway¡­¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t you dare,¡± she repeated.


    ¡°Yes, ma¡¯am,¡± he grinned, and for a silly encore flexed his perfect arm, here in the one place he could truly do so without care, with the one person who could behold its awesome power without being destroyed by the show.


    She laughed, and they fell fully back into the mortal and finite world again. No longer sharing his power, his body was once again utterly unyielding to her touch; no force no matter how powerful could so much as bend a hair on his arm, nor dimple the skin of his buttock. He was, as always, gentle despite that; they swam a few brisk laps to clean up, and he took her by the hand as they walked around the shore toward the cabin, neither bothering to dress. There was nobody in the worlds whose presence would embarrass them, least of all those few who could actually reach this place. And he was above that, anyway. The earthmote dipped and undulated beneath his feet as he let the tiniest, most insignificant speck of his true being fill his body¡ªwhich was still such an incomprehensibly vast weight of power, even his little toe was far heavier than the world entire, and the rest of him as if something exceedingly vaster were stepping down onto the earth, instantly fusing it into metal and rock.


    The magic of his being was the only thing that could safely contain and control such power.


    But there were a few who had some idea of what he was, and loved him in spite of it. Maicoh flicked an ear at them as they entered, opening one blue eye. He was, as ever, stretched out in front of the hearth.


    ¡°Loud,¡± he growled.


    ¡°I¡¯ve overheard you and Maingan many a time, pup. You are in no position to complain!¡± E?rrach chided him fondly, and knelt to squish and massage the great wolf¡¯s ears.


    ¡°Where is Maingan, anyway?¡± Rheannach asked, throwing herself down on the rug to enjoy the fire¡¯s warmth on water-chilled skin. Maicoh flicked his ear again, somehow conveying a shrug without so much as a twitch of his shoulders.


    ¡°Hunting.¡±


    ¡°Two words in less than a minute. You¡¯re in unusually loquacious form today!¡± she teased. To her satisfaction and amusement, Maicoh just growled, tucked his nose under his tail, and pointedly closed his eyes.


    King E?rrach sat down cross-legged and unleashed his most devastating weapon: belly rubs.


    It worked. Maicoh straightened out, and his tongue lolled happily. Rheannach giggled softly, glad that even they could have the cozy simplicity of sitting by the fire and making a fuss of their dog. She needed it, after the events at Crae Vhannog.


    Which was, after all, what she¡¯d come back here to discuss. But she wasn¡¯t going to feel even a little bit ashamed at taking some time for love, first.


    ¡°So, Ellaenie has her Word, thanks to you,¡± she reported once Maicoh had been appropriately pampered. ¡°Did you foresee it?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± E?rrach sighed, stood, and retrieved a blanket from a high shelf to drape it near the fire to warm up. ¡°I might have chosen something different for her myself, but¡­¡±


    Rheannach chuckled. ¡°Yes, I¡¯ve noticed a pattern like that. Jerl, a man with almost no ambition beyond enjoying the life he already had, came into the power to remake history. Mouse, a man who¡¯d rather go unnoticed, came into the power to dominate wills. Now Ellaenie, a prodigy when it comes to the magic of spirit and people, comes into the power to reshape unthinking matter¡­¡±


    ¡°He can paint straight with crooked lines,¡± E?rrach rumbled, suddenly deep in thought.


    ¡°¡­What?¡±


    It took him a moment to respond. ¡°I¡¯m not the greatest power at work here,¡± he said. ¡°I must pray about this.¡±


    She frowned at him, taken aback by this sudden deep seriousness. ¡°¡­How is that possible? I know what you are, husband. All that was is within you, down to the smallest bit. You have all the power and knowledge of the World Before!¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± he said, levelly. ¡°I do. I am the Universe That Was, every bit of it right down to its dimmest photon. But I am still finite, my love. I am a created being myself. I¡ªthe core of me, the bit of me that¡¯s myself, was born a human being, even if not exactly a normal man¡­¡± he shrugged. ¡°Still a man. Still finite and definite. I am what I am and doing what I do because¡­¡± he paused, thinking, and finally shrugged. ¡°Well, because I am being allowed to be and encouraged to act. That¡¯s the best I can describe it. The best any of us can.¡±


    ¡°Hmm.¡± She almost chuckled.


    He tilted his head at her. ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°I was just thinking, I know what Yngmir would say to that,¡± Rheannach commented, stroking Maicoh¡¯s neck-fur.


    ¡°Heh¡­yes. Skepticism is Yngmir¡¯s whole being. Haust made him to doubt, and there¡¯s much of her in him. It¡¯s why I love her so much: she¡¯s the one who¡¯s stood up to me most, challenged me most.¡±


    ¡°You put a lot of her into me, too.¡±


    ¡°Less than you¡¯re thinking.¡±


    Rheannach smiled, and sat back. She could feel her hair drying in the fire¡¯s warmth. ¡°I¡¯m not Yngmir. I believe you. Still, it¡¯s a big thing to believe. You¡¯re so present I can¡¯t ignore you.¡±


    ¡°Yes, and I have learned that can be a boon and a disservice to my people.¡± He gave Maicoh a last pat-pat then leaned over to grab the blanket, drapped its warm weight over his shoulders, then it and himself wrapped himself around her, cross-legged and gently bear-hugging her into himself. Warm, cozy, perfect. They enjoyed each other for a long moment.


    Still, he wasn¡¯t quite settled. ¡°The more I understand about Creation, the more it humbles me.¡±


    He was so utterly large she could comfortably lean into his arm even so seated, and so she did, and listened, inviting him to elaborate by looking up silently at his face. His godly, slightly melancholy face.


    It always worked. He sighed, adjusted the blanket with a few last twitches, hugged just a tiny bit tighter, and fixed his gaze on something invisible and distant. ¡°We knew much less than we thought we did, and that cost us.¡±


    For a few long seconds, the only sounds in the cabin were the crackle and low rumble of the hearth, their breathing, and the sound of his fingers still gliding through Maicoh¡¯s fur.


    ¡±Maybe¡­there¡¯s some detail about the Second Creation you should know. The story you¡¯ve heard is true, but it isn¡¯t complete. We¡­miscalculated.¡±


    ¡°¡­Miscalculated?¡±


    King E?rrach sighed. ¡°Yes. We thought we could combine our powers and act in unison, but that turned out not to be the case. The act of Creation must be singular, and none of us were powerful enough to do it alone. And, so¡­they all died.¡±


    Maicoh whined quietly, and E?rrach gave him a reassuring scritch.


    ¡°By ¡®them¡¯ I presume you mean the other Ascended, and not your fellow Crowns?¡±


    ¡°No, them too. They all died in the ensuing struggle, Rheannach. All of them but me. And when they died, their mass-energies became mine. It was only when they had all died and I had all of it, every last scrap of all that had been, that I could speak Being and complete the work.¡±


    ¡°Being?¡±


    ¡°The root word, of which all others are just facets. The first and ultimate.¡±


    ¡°Sounds¡­hmm. Where¡¯s that one hidden?¡±


    He patted his chest, and she rested her head against it. Here, she could hear his heart thumping away slowly, but with deafening power. One of the many things he protected the world from¡ªeven his heartbeat would obliterate the world if his own body didn¡¯t contain the sound.


    They rested for a moment, while he gathered his thoughts.


    ¡°Within you seems the only safe place for such a Word,¡± she ventured.


    As if he had read her mind¡ªin fact he could read anyone if he wanted, but he strongly respected privacy¡ªhe maneuvered her ear right over his heart. It was beyond deafening, so loud her very being quaked with every beat.


    ¡°You think so? This, my love, is the essence of Being. Listen to it. It lives within each of us, but in me and only me lies the knowledge and the power to wield it true. It¡¯s for the best: speaking it was almost more than I could do. For anyone else, mortal or Herald or even Crown¡­non-being. As though they never were in the first place.¡±


    ¡°How many are there?¡±


    ¡°Ah.¡± He chuckled. ¡°One of the difficult questions.¡±


    ¡°¡­Really? One? Two? three? A dozen?¡±


    ¡°It¡­depends. Each Word contains many aspects in turn, and some of them are¡­well. Take Mind for instance. Civorage took the will to dominate, the power to compel obedience and to see through the eyes of others, yes? Mouse on the other hand took the power to escape notice, to anticipate, and to be liked when he¡¯s remembered. Very different, yet both are Mind.¡±


    ¡°But¡­?¡± Rheannach prompted.


    He chuckled. ¡°But to make some kind of answer¡­fifteen. We chose to realize the Words in less, ah, devastating form, so they are now not quite so complete as they would be were I to again wield them entire.¡±


    ¡°And¡­if you did?¡±


    ¡°Then Being would be the only Word, and that is a discussion none of us are ready for.¡± He touched his chest again. ¡°Speaking it was a profound and holy moment. I¡­¡± Now, his mind¡¯s eye was fixed on something terrifying and wonderful. Tears sprang up in the corners of his eyes. ¡°I was wholly unworthy. Nobody was worthy. Yet Being allowed me to speak.¡± He fell silent, and she took his hand to squeeze it. Eventually, when the silence had become comfortable again, E?rrach exhaled shakily and wiped his cheeks. ¡°I think that¡¯s all I wish to say on the matter.¡±


    Rheannach nodded, and stepped a small ways back in their conversation. ¡°¡­So they all died.¡±


    ¡°Yes, they died. But the Crowns¡­I crowned them in glory in this new Creation, because their spirits stayed with me. And so¡­I created new forms for them out of the new energies streaming from the Source, and returned to them the memories and information they carried across the threshold¡­¡± he shrugged. ¡°But still, they are creatures of this creation, now. I am a creature who contains the whole of the previous. My presence is necessary to anchor the bridge between this ¡®verse and the deadverse the Source feeds upon. And, so¡­Rheannach, I cannot leave, not until this creation again has a universe worth of mass-energy to sustain itself. And I cannot risk myself in any way that might cause such a thing. If I do, this creation will retroactively cease to be.¡±


    ¡°What¡­could possibly cause such a danger?¡±


    ¡°An act of Creation.¡± He sighed heavily. ¡°I could, probably, wave a hand and undo all of what¡¯s gone wrong. I could prevent the shades, I could fix the elves before they went wrong¡­¡±


    ¡°But you can¡¯t foresee what would happen if you did.¡±


    ¡°No. And a thing isn¡¯t necessarily beautiful because it¡¯s perfect. For all that¡¯s gone wrong¡­this is the world we have. If I tried to polish out all the imperfections, I¡¯d take away all the things that make it real. And there is a very real danger in doing something like that. I can wield the Words precisely because I have suffered greatly and gained wisdom. What would perfect and perfectly naive people do, given the power of a Word? Or to use an ancient story¡­if you, in a state of absolute innocence and perfection, faced a being who tempted to eat a fruit giving you true knowledge of good and evil¡­what would that do to you?¡±


    Rheannach blinked. He was in a mood she¡¯d never seen him in, now. And what a bizarre idea! But she took him seriously, and tried to imagine, tried her best to put herself in the position he described.


    ¡°I suppose¡­if I was absolutely innocent and had no idea what good and evil were¡­I wouldn¡¯t even know what temptation is. I wouldn¡¯t even trust, I¡¯d just¡­not be able to understand that somebody could be tempting me at all. Whatever they said would seem like the truth to me.¡±


    He gave her a serious look. ¡°Exactly. That is one of many interpretations that arose over the ?ons, and I think there is much wisdom in it. And that little tale is one of the oldest there is. It was ancient when I was born, and was told when human beings were so unspeakably primitive, we hadn¡¯t yet invented the wheel. Or writing.¡±


    He looked up, through the roof toward the worlds in general. ¡°The people we made here have never experienced life so undeveloped. And that was my great mistake. I wished to spare you some of the torment of growing up. In the end, I was¡­¡±


    ¡°Impatient,¡± Maicoh suggested, softly. He¡¯d cracked an eye open and listened closely, Rheannach realized. That ¡®sleeping dog¡¯ act never failed to fool her.


    King E?rrach, lord of Creation, looked forlornly at his hound, then lay down on the floor and hugged Maicoh to himself. The wolf-herald put up a token bit of grumbling, but also gave his master a reassuring lick. ¡°Yes. Impatient, and lonely. And it may end up costing all of you everything.¡±


    ¡°Or it may not,¡± Rheannach said, more to be reassuring than because she was really following his thoughts.


    ¡°It may not,¡± he agreed. ¡°As I said, there is a greater power than I at work. I can only pray.¡±


    ¡°And as you said: a thing isn¡¯t beautiful because it¡¯s perfect. Maybe your mistakes are for the good.¡±


    ¡°¡­I hope so.¡±


    ¡°Painting straight with crooked lines, hm? I think I get it.¡±


    Her husband smiled and rose to fill the kettle and make them some tea. ¡°Ellaenie¡¯s safely back at the Oasis, I take it?¡±


    ¡°Yes. Something about being attacked by a crazed swordsman made her suddenly very keen to get back to little Saoirse.¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s unharmed, though?¡±


    ¡°Completely. Her skin did more damage to the sword.¡± Rheannach wrapped herself up in the blanket and wiggled happily. She was so warm, now. ¡°The man himself was¡­peculiar.¡±


    ¡°Peculiar how?¡±


    ¡°He clearly had no idea how to use his blade. In fact, I¡¯d say he¡¯s the worst swordsman I ever crossed blades with. He just¡­waved it around like a child with a stick. But somehow, it always seemed to be in the right place. He got me good a couple of times, that way. Pure luck, no skill.¡±


    ¡°And he teleported away.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s right. He called his word Luck.¡±


    ¡°Hah!¡± E?rrach laughed as the kettle started to seethe on the flames. ¡°Oh, the poor fool! He has no idea what he¡¯s playing with.¡±


    ¡°What is it really?¡±


    ¡°Wavefunction. The fundamental unreality of matter and energy. The way things only exist when they must, and the rest of the time they¡¯re just a set of possible places that thing could be. Probabilities, stochastic processes and quantum mechanics.¡± He cocked his head thoughtfully, ¡°well, no. That¡¯s almost a lie it¡¯s so imprecise. But it¡¯s maybe a good way to give you a feel for it. Material reality isn¡¯t as solid and abiding as it seems, is the point.¡±


    She stared at him a moment, head cocked on one side. This was now in the orbit of a conversation they¡¯d had many a time over the millennia. ¡°You know, I do still slightly resent that you don¡¯t tell me about all these World Before things, and I have to wait for mortal science to catch up. How far away is that one?¡±


    ¡°Oh, not far at all, now they have electricity. In fact, somebody might already be working on it.¡±


    ¡°Well then it doesn¡¯t matter if you tell me, does it?¡±


    ¡°I just did.¡±


    She groaned and tipped her head back. ¡°Pan...¡±


    ¡°¡­Sorry.¡±


    ¡°No, no. I trust you. If you say it¡¯s a journey I need to be part of rather than jumping straight to the end, I believe you. Really. But it is so very annoying when you start blathering on about things you understand perfectly and I don¡¯t. It¡¯s a bad habit of yours.¡±


    He nodded. ¡°Well¡­the short version is as I said. Matter, at its most basic level, isn¡¯t like we experience it in our own scale of reference, waiting patiently in place for something to happen. It¡¯s more like a wave on an endless lake. But it isn''t on any one particular place on the wave until it comes into contact with another bit of stuff and the two of them interact. Otherwise, it will remain a wave as much as it possibly can.¡±


    ¡°So things are only real relative to other things. The rest of the time, they¡¯re just¡­rippling maybes.¡±


    ¡°Yeah!¡± He had that look in his eye, now: the one that said he was never more in love with her than when she was thinking. ¡°God I love your mind!¡±


    ¡°Hmm. And Wavefunction governs that process? But our new masked friend doesn¡¯t really understand what he¡¯s got. All he knows is that he has control over probabilities. To him, it¡¯s just¡­just luck. Random events always shake out to his advantage.¡±


    ¡°Exactly.¡±


    ¡°But reality isn¡¯t completely random.¡±


    ¡°No.¡±


    ¡°Luck doesn¡¯t trump intent, effort and skill.¡±


    He nod-nodded happily, then scooped the kettle off the hearth as it began to steam and whistle. ¡°You have it.¡±


    ¡°I rather suspect I don¡¯t,¡± she replied, archly.


    ¡°Heh! Well¡­true. But this is the first of the truly deep knowledge, love. All those questions you¡¯ve been asking me since the First Day¡­this is the door to answering them all.¡± He poured the hot water over the leaves. ¡°See? I keep my promises.¡±


    Rheannach scoffed, and took a deep sniff as the scent of herbal steam drifted over to her. ¡°I never doubted that,¡± she told him. ¡°But you must admit, twelve thousand years is a long time to be kept waiting.¡±


    He conceded her point with a nod and a shrug, and finished pouring the tea. Whatever his reply might have been, she never got it: they both felt the presence of an old friend at the same time, followed seconds later by the way a fog rolled off the lake and blocked the view out the cabin¡¯s windows. Mist crept in around the edges of the front door, moments before a familiar knock.


    ¡°You don¡¯t need to knock, Valkyr, you know that,¡± E?rach called, setting out a third cup.


    The door opened, and Haust slipped through. ¡°I found a lost puppy,¡± she declared, waving a hand at Maingan who was wagging happily at her heel. Maingan growled playfully at her, and bounded into the room with an enormous goose dangling limply from her mouth.


    ¡°Ever the dramatic entrance with you,¡± E?rrach rumbled in mirth. He scratched Maingan behind the ear and took the goose to hang it up for later plucking.


    ¡°Well, it¡¯s only polite to let you know I¡¯m coming. Especially seeing as all of creation knows when you two are making love.¡± Beneath her cowl, Haust¡¯s lips curled into a slight smile. ¡°Perhaps I clung to the vain hope that my warning would spur you to put on some pants.¡±


    ¡°Me? Pants?! You ask a grave sacrifice!¡±


    ¡°Far too much,¡± Rheannach agreed comfortably, and sipped her tea.


    ¡°Oh, I know.¡± Haust smiled a little wider, and sat down. ¡°But alas, you¡¯ve had your fun. I have something serious to discuss.¡±


    ¡°I was wondering if today would be the day.¡±


    ¡°The storm¡¯s close, now.¡±


    E?rrach sighed, sadly. ¡°Yes. It is well that you have perceived it now, instead of later. Storms of all kind were always your specialty.¡±


    ¡°Mm. I may conjure up a literal one for the occasion.¡±


    ¡°Be artful with this one,¡± E?rrach cautioned. ¡°I don¡¯t have much margin of error.¡±


    ¡°When is she anything else?¡± Rheannach asked. ¡°But what are you two talking about so cryptically?¡±


    ¡°There is a nexus point in Time rapidly approaching. Well, if that¡¯s even the right way to speak of such a thing,¡± he grumbled to himself. ¡°Young Jerl has a painful lesson ahead of him.¡±


    ¡°And that¡¯s what I wanted to discuss,¡± Haust agreed. ¡°Just how painful must the lesson be?¡±


    ¡°Yes. Maybe¡­Rhenn, your insight would be very welcome. May I¡­?¡±


    He held out his blunt pointing finger. She sighed, and touched her own to his. In a somewhat disorienting flash, she understood perfectly.


    ¡°Yurgh.¡± She pulled a face and sipped her tea again to rebalance herself. ¡°I¡¯ve never enjoyed that.¡±


    ¡°Nor have I. Nor any of us, which is why we¡¯re going to talk about it. But you needed a great deal of context, so¡­¡±


    Rheannach probed the new knowledge in much the same way a boxer might tongue the back of his teeth to see if any of them were loose after a blow to the jaw. She didn¡¯t like what she found one bit. Haust was right: it was a hard choice ahead of them. One they couldn¡¯t afford to get wrong. Too much compassion might spell disaster.


    Then again, so might too little.


    With a sigh, she rose, spread her blanket on a chair to sit at the table, and they settled down to a conversation that lasted long through the day and into the night, until eventually they reached a decision, for better or worse.


    She just hoped it was the right one.


    <hr>


    <blockquote>


    ¡°How many people have the Shades taken? Over the depths of time, it is surely too many to count. How many millions of souls are condemned to eternal suffering? And why? Why would the Crowns make a world where such things exist? Why would they permit them to remain There are only two possible answers: either the Crowns are indifferent, or they are impotent.¡± ¡ªExcerpt from a Oneist tract circulated in Enerlend


    </blockquote>


    <h2>Above the plains of St¨®rsteinn</h2>


    Airship Cavalier Queen 09.06.03.10.03


    Jerl was looking at a familiar view, with new eyes.


    He¡¯d gone to the Queen¡¯s prow once the lookout called. Below and ahead of him he could see the long, wide, shallow valley he¡¯d fled down in the first cycle. At its far end, the Thundering Hall gleamed in bright, clean sunlight that had somehow turned St¨®rsteinn¡¯s brown plains into a subtle patchwork quilt of yellows, green, purples and silvers, rippled by a grey breeze.


    It would have been idyllic, if not for the looming, cloud-clad wall of stone high above in the distance. Yonguitang earthmote, second only to Garanhir in size and slightly larger than St¨®rsteinn, was riding low in its sphere while St¨®rsteinn rode high in hers. And the two were moving in more-or-less the same direction, too.


    The Thundering Hall was in for a long eclipse.


    ¡°It¡¯s a sight to give you chills, nay?¡±


    ¡°Yeah.¡± Jerl drummed his fingers anxiously on the rail as he considered the oncoming earthmote. He¡¯d rarely looked up at an earthmote from this angle. Something about seeing Yonguitang from below like this was driving home the scale, in a way he rarely appreciated. That was a whole country up there, a whole empire. Looming above them atop those oncoming shrouded cliffs would be river valleys, forests, lakes, farmlands, cities, mountains and meadows, wilderness and groomed bucolic countryside.


    But from below¡­all he could see was the darkness that every sane man feared.


    Sin patted his shoulder. She of all people knew best what was going through his head at the sight of it. ¡°We¡¯re okay,¡± she said, softly. ¡°If we can¡¯t make the Hall in time, we¡¯ll just loiter. We¡¯ve got enough food and fuel in store to last a month.¡±


    ¡°Part of me wants to go all the way back,¡± Jerl said, softly. ¡°Even though I know what it¡¯ll cost the world if I do¡­there¡¯s still a part of me that wants to step right back to that day and save him.¡±


    ¡°I know.¡±


    Jerl glanced at her. ¡°¡­I never¡­I think I was so wrapped in my own grief, I never actually asked you how you were, afterwards.¡±


    Sin sighed and shook her head. ¡°You don¡¯t need to worry about me, shenkin¨¦.¡±


    ¡°Sin¡ª¡±


    She shrugged. ¡°I¡¯m so much faster than you, and stronger than you when I must be. Part of me still believes I could have saved him. If I could have, and didn¡¯t, that makes me an oathbreaker. But if I had tried and failed¡­if they caught me before I could use my vamdraech¡­¡±


    Jerl nodded. ¡°I never blamed you.¡±


    ¡°Not even for a second, at your lowest ebb?¡±


    ¡°That would have been the grief talking. I¡¯ve never blamed you.¡±


    ¡°¡­Thanks, Jerl.¡±


    It was his turn to give her shoulder a squeeze. She¡¯d sounded like she¡¯d needed to hear that, despite her words.


    They both turned at the sound of neat, quick footsteps trotting up the stairs behind them: Amir. He had a navigator¡¯s almanac in one hand, and a notepad in the other.


    ¡°I have a verdict,¡± he announced.


    ¡°Good news?¡±


    ¡°We can safely make the Hall and set down with three hours to spare.¡±


    ¡°More than enough time to bring the bag in and batten her down,¡± Sin said. ¡°And the eclipse itself?¡±


    ¡°Four days, eleven hours, fourteen minutes, give or take ten seconds either way. But I shouldn¡¯t worry about that overmuch. Frankly, I can think of few safer places to weather a long eclipse.¡±


    ¡°Right. You spent your callow youth here,¡± Jerl recalled.


    ¡°Jerl, please. I was never callow.¡± Amir smiled slightly. ¡°Anyway. Yngmir keeps the place aglow during eclipse. Every surface and object sheds light. It¡¯s quite pretty, actually, though you will want a sleeping mask.¡±


    Jerl nodded, pleased. He¡¯d been impressed by Yngmir last time around, and that impression hadn¡¯t faded even after meeting a few more Heralds. He had a gravitas that Dragon had matched in a different way, Rheannach had downplayed, and the Shisha had actively shunned.


    He turned to call back to the wheelhouse. ¡°Gebby! Take us in, nice and quick!¡±


    ¡°Aye aye!¡±


    They shifted their weight as the deck dipped and nosed downward. Gebby wasn¡¯t wasting time on a gentle approach, not with that edge cliff looming. The sooner they were down, stowed and safely indoors, the happier everyone would be.


    Jerl leaned over to Amir, lowering his voice. ¡°What¡¯s the latest we could leave and still outrun the eclipse?¡±


    Amir checked his watch and notebook. ¡°Eleventh hour, half past. Why do you ask? Do you have a premonition?¡±


    ¡°No, not yet. I just want to keep my options open.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d revise that estimate a bit,¡± Sin cautioned. ¡°There¡¯s a monster storm lurking in that eclipse. They don¡¯t call this place the Thundering Hall for nothing, nay?¡±


    ¡°¡­Eleventh hour, then,¡± Amir corrected himself, as a prolonged flicker of lightning deep in the shadows illustrated her point.


    Jerl nodded grimly. The tendency of storm winds to draw airships under the earthmotes was a lesson he¡¯d never forget.


    The next few minutes were the usual flurry of activity. There was a lot of careful work to do, and Jerl had to weave and slip between the gas canisters as the riggers distributed them across the deck for emptying the bag. It was a procedure that had crowded the deck even before the cannons, and those needed stowing properly for landing too, so now there was hardly room to place a foot, and hardly space to slip between working me.


    Somehow, he managed it, and trotted up to the comparatively roomy wheelhouse just as the Hall sent up a flare, acknowledging their approach. Jerl threw out a flare of their own in token of peaceful intent, then stood back to oversee their final approach.


    All went smoothly, despite a buffeting, gusty wind that tried to slew the Queen around with vicious timing, but Gebby and Derghan were expert ship-handlers: the engines roard, tilted, corrected the unwanted surge, and they lined up perfectly to drop their ropes to the ground crew.


    If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    From there, the clanking of windlasses and the chanting of work shanties did the work. The Queen settled in the cradle, the docking bolt slammed across, and the bag came gentle down on the braces, no longer lifting them.


    ¡°Absolutely textbook. Well done, lads.¡±


    ¡°Anything to get indoors soon, skipper,¡± Gebby quipped.


    Jerl chuckled and clapped him on the shoulder, gave some last orders to batten the ship down, left the Queen in Sinikka¡¯s hands, and took the ramp over to the cradle¡¯s edge. There was a familiar face waiting for him as he alighted.


    ¡°Well met, Heimar¡¯s son.¡±


    Ronar Heimarsson paused in the middle of opening his mouth, and gave Jerl a cautious look. ¡°¡­Have we met?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Once. Briefly. You won¡¯t remember, I¡¯m sure.¡±


    ¡°You must have a good memory for names, then.¡±


    ¡°Something like that.¡± Jerl flashed a smiled, and introduced himself properly. ¡°Jerl Holten, of the Cavalier Queen. We¡¯re here to perform research at the Thundering Hall and seek an audience with Yngmir.¡±


    ¡°Mm. The Herald of Lore has been expecting you. You come direct from the Oasis with the blessing of the Crowns, he says.¡±


    ¡°Aye, we do.¡±


    Ronar nodded. ¡°Well then. You¡¯re here at least ¡®til the end of eclipse, and our ground crew won¡¯t work through the dark. We¡¯d better get to locking your lady down.¡±


    ¡°Thanks. See the snow elf up there? That¡¯s my quartermaster, Sinikka Nerissith.¡±


    ¡°Understood. Welcome to the Thundering Hall, captain. Do you need an escort up to Yngmir¡¯s seat?¡±


    ¡°No, I know the way. And besides¡­¡± Jerl rapped his knuckles affectionately on Amir¡¯s arm. ¡°My navigator here grew up at the Hall.¡±


    ¡°I thought you looked familiar!¡± Ronar exclaimed, smiling broadly. ¡°I remember a skinny, fussy, dark lad running around a few years back!¡±


    ¡°And I remember a pimply teenager who could barely tolerate a day in his guard armour,¡± Amir replied, with poise and a small smile. ¡°It¡¯s good to see we¡¯ve both improved from those days, hmm?¡±


    ¡°Heh! Right you are. Welcome back!¡±


    Amir looked up at the Thundering Hall up atop its rock¡ªYngmir¡¯s Seat¡ªand smiled. ¡°It¡¯s good to be back,¡± he said.


    The stroll through town was much the same as Jerl remembered from last time, though there was an urgency to the bustle this time. Men and boys were shuttling boxes of candles and cartloads of firewood about, and the air was rich with the smell of stewpots as families prepared for a long few days confined to their homes. And Stormclansmen had big families, generally with four or five generations all under the same roof out as far as first and second cousins. Each house was a hall in its own right.


    They wouldn¡¯t be bored, at least. Eclipses down here were a time for families to huddle together, sing songs, tell stories, and wait patiently, as Amir explained while they walked. In fact, Jerl got the distinct impression some of the people bustling past them were quite looking forward to a break from work.


    He wondered where his crew were going to quarter. No doubt Sin would get it sorted out. He¡¯d be fine, so long as he had Mouse nearby¡ª


    He turned, and realized Mouse wasn¡¯t with him. He stopped and frowned, searching the crowd and focusing, trying to see if Mouse had slipped away to look at something briefly or¡­


    ¡°Jerl?¡±


    ¡°Hm?¡±


    ¡°You look like you¡¯ve lost something.¡±


    ¡°Where¡¯s Mouse?¡±


    ¡°¡­Mouse?¡± No flicker of recognition or remembrance crossed Amir¡¯s face. Though, that in itself was actually a comfort: it meant Mouse was exerting his power right now and wanted to be forgotten.


    Why, though?


    ¡°Hmm. Wonder where he¡¯s got to¡­¡±


    ¡°Jerl, who in E?rrach¡¯s name are you talking about?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll explain later. It¡¯s¡­Wordspeaker stuff.¡±


    Amir blinked at him, then shrugged. ¡°As you wish. This way.¡±


    The ascent to Yngmir¡¯s Seat and the hall was just as Jerl remembered it, right down to the feeling of awe as the scale of the place dawned on him. Somehow, the hall had diminished in his memory, becoming a half-impression of something merely very, very big.


    The reality, of course, was that its doorposts were whole redwood trees of staggering height and girth, and the lintel was high and wide enough that the Queen could have fit through the doors. No wonder he¡¯d forgotten: it was too big to hold in the mind, far too big.


    He was so lost in gawping up at it that the moment Amir exclaimed happily and jogged forward came as a jolt. Jerl looked down as Amir collided with his old friend and mentor, Sevjin. They hugged each other tight, and it dawned on Jerl that Sevjin must have restrained tremendous pain during the first cycle, on hearing the news of Amir¡¯s death: their embrace was that of a father and son reuniting after too many long years.


    He stood aside and let them have their moment together, though it didn¡¯t take long before Amir made introductions.


    ¡°Sevjin, this is Jerl Holten, captain of the Cavalier Queen.¡±


    ¡°The Timespeaker himself,¡± Sevjin bowed slightly. ¡°It¡¯s a pleasure.¡±


    ¡°Thank you. We¡¯ve met before, in a different history,¡± Jerl revealed. ¡°But this one is a happier meeting.¡±


    Sevjin gave a solemn nod. ¡°Yngmir hinted as much. Come on in. The Herald is preparing for the eclipse and can¡¯t see you just this minute, but we¡¯ll have at least four days to conduct your research when the darkness reaches us. There are quarters prepared for you in the guest wing.¡±


    ¡°Just a small point for the guards,¡± Jerl told him. ¡°There¡¯s a young man around here somewhere, blond of hair, slim of build. He goes by the name ¡®Mouse.¡¯ He¡¯ll probably come asking after me soon. I¡¯d appreciate it if they let him in.¡±


    He saw Amir give him a genuinely bewildered look, but Sevjin, fortunately, didn¡¯t notice. ¡°Of course,¡± the librarian replied.


    ¡°Thank you.¡±


    ¡°This way, then.¡±


    They fell in behind him as he led them through the doors, and Amir leaned in to whisper. ¡°¡­I know when you¡¯re joking, and this would be a strange time for it even if you seemed like you were. Who¡ª?¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t remember him because he doesn¡¯t want you to right now. He holds the power of Mind. I¡¯m immune because of Time, but you¡¯ll forget again very shortly.¡±


    ¡°¡­I¡­do remember that we did steal the Word, but¡­rrgh.¡± Amir shook his head, a motion which turned into a full-body shudder. ¡°That is a most unpleasant sensation. Like unexpectedly finding one of my teeth is missing.¡±


    ¡°I can imagine. He doesn¡¯t usually do this. Something must be awry¡­¡±


    ¡°No premonitions?¡±


    ¡°Not yet.¡± Jerl didn¡¯t bother saying that just as Mouse¡¯s powers didn¡¯t seem to work quite right on him, his own powers didn¡¯t seem to work quite right when it came to Mouse. Wordspeakers, it seemed, had a tendency to sort of¡­slip past each other llike tapioca pearls.


    Still, no premonitions was reassuring. He decided to relax and not worry: Mouse could look after himself just fine, and he had the great library of the Thundering Hall to admire.


    Last time he¡¯d laid eyes on it, he¡¯d been sleep-deprived, drained from losing Amir and Sinikka, exhausted from several days of running and fighting for his life, and running mostly on fierce determination to get the box to Yngmir and learn what he may. He hadn¡¯t really taken more than a cursory glance at the library on that occasion.


    He¡¯d missed out, he realized. It wasn¡¯t that libraries were usually of much interest to him¡ªhe reckoned himself an intelligent man but not a scholarly one, and he¡¯d much rather the cozy comfort of an inn¡¯s hearth than a reading room or stacks¡ªbut this one was not cozy in any case: it was magnificent. The bookshelves in here were small buildings in their own right, with internal staircases and reading balconies with desks and chairs. The wood and brass alike were polished smooth and gleamed in the light of thousands of magestones.


    What Jerl noticed this time, however, was that a great many of the shelves were empty. This was a library built to hold a copy of every book ever written, and Yngmir clearly intended its capacity would last for a good long time. There was room for things that were not books, too: scrolls, clay tablets, chiseled stones, brass plaques, and empty spaces where shelving for new forms of writing as-yet uninvented could be built in the future.


    This was a place where people lived, though. And under the hall¡¯s titanic eaves were packed the scribes¡¯ apartments, in suites of rooms around shared hearths. Jerl and Amir were led to one of these, and assured they would get to meet with Yngmir as soon as the eclipse fell and his preparations were complete.


    ¡°But in the meantime¡­what is it you are here to research?¡± Sevjin asked, once he¡¯d shown them the details of the cunning indoor plumbing, flushing latrines and fire-safe stone hearth.


    ¡°The Words of Creation,¡± said Jerl.


    ¡°¡­You came from the Oasis to study this? The Crowns themselves would be the ultimate authority.¡±


    ¡°There are complications which make them unwilling to touch the subject closely,¡± Amir explained. ¡°Among other things, they seem to believe that the journey of learning about them ourselves, rather than being taught, is important somehow.¡±


    Sevjin uttered a grunt that might have been the opening beat of a mirthless chuckle. ¡°How suitably inscrutable,¡± he mused. ¡°Very well. I do not know exactly how much literature we have on that subject, but I know who will. I will ask her to assist you. She will be along in a few minutes, I¡¯m sure. In the meantime¡­do you object if Amir and I catch up, captain?¡±


    ¡°Not at all. I¡¯ll wait here.¡±


    ¡°Thank you.¡± And with that, Jerl was left alone. He stretched out on the couch in the suite¡¯s living area, interlaced his fingers behind his head, and settled down to wait. He was good at waiting, that being the life of an airshipman, for the most part. But still, something was still turning over in his mind and bothering him.


    ¡­Just where was Mouse?


    <hr>


    <h2>Interlude: Crownspouse¡¯s apartments</h2>


    The Oasis, Alhulw Earthmote 09.06.03.10.03


    Her reunion with little Saoirse had, of course, been Ellaenie¡¯s first and most important duty, and she did not neglect it, nor resent it. Still, she was relieved when bedtime was past, the child was in bed, and she got the chance to recount what had happened.


    Sayf listened to her account of the Masked Man and his pursuit of Four-Current with a furrowed brow as he sipped smoke through a long-hosed hookah. They were out on the private veranda, for the Crown and his spouses only, where their conversation was concealed from prying ears by the constant white noise of a fountain, and by high walls.


    Ellaenie only asked the obvious question once she¡¯d finished recounting the confrontation. ¡°Did you know about this man?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± he shook his head, and his frown deepened. ¡°And that troubles me.¡±


    ¡°I thought you could be aware of anyone in the world, if you focused on them,¡± Pal observed. She was smoking too, poured languidly onto a lounge to Ellaenie¡¯s left. It was rare to see her frowning, but on this occasion¡­


    ¡°Usually¡­¡± Sayf stroked his beard. ¡°Quantum indeterminacy plays havoc even with my powers, though.¡±


    ¡°In the language us mere mortals speak, please?¡± Cerida asked, handing him a wine cup.


    ¡°Mm¡­.I¡¯m sorry. It¡¯ll have to wait. The important part is, his Word grants him the means to remain hidden even from a Crown¡¯s sight. But I can infer certain things about him. What I have trouble with is the same thing I had trouble with in Civorage¡¯s case.¡±


    ¡°How did he even get his Word in the first place?¡± Lokar mused.


    ¡°Exactly. We hid them quite securely.¡±


    ¡°I thought you said the words want to be found and spoken,¡± Pal pointed out.


    ¡°It doesn¡¯t feel like that,¡± Ellaenie replied, shaking her head. ¡°It feels more like¡­more like it would have been quite happy to stay where it was, but it couldn¡¯t any longer. Like its hand was forced.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s¡­sapient?¡± Pal gave Ellaenie¡¯s head an alarmed look, as though somehow expecting to be able to see two minds occupying the same skull. But Sayf was already shaking his head.


    ¡°They¡¯ve never behaved as though they are, but they are¡­responsive,¡± he said. ¡°You have to remember, the Words are a mystery the Crowns don¡¯t fully understand. E?rrach has his theory for where they came from, Talvi has a different one, Haust has hers¡­I wonder whether the question may be as meaningless as asking where the center of the surface of a sphere is.¡±


    He sighed, set aside the wine Cerida had given him, and paced around the fountain with his hands behind his back. ¡°I could pass off Civorage discovering mind as chance. Any possible event, no matter how unlikely, becomes inevitable given enough time. But a second Wordspeaker not empowered and entrusted by us? No. The odds of that happening twice in ten thousand years are infinitesimal.¡±


    ¡°Then what?¡± Galan asked, from his own spot seated on the fountain¡¯s retaining wall.


    ¡°Enemy action, of course,¡± a new voice broke in. The crownspouses turned to look, then rose to their feet out of respect: The Shishah had joined them.


    Sayf looked at his Herald, then sighed and nodded. ¡°I fear you¡¯re correct,¡± he agreed.


    ¡°What enemy?¡± Pal asked. ¡°Who?¡±


    There was a moment of communication between Crown and Herald, the two figures¡ªSayf tall, burly, round and seemingly soft, the Shishah small, wiry and wizened¡ªheld each others¡¯ gaze for a moment. Ellaenie¡¯s sight itched: there was a conversation going on. It lasted only moments, but it seemed to confirm Sayf¡¯s unvoiced fears. He sighed, turned to face the fountain, and stared into its rippling depths. As he did so, he waved a hand at The Shishah.


    ¡°You tell them,¡± he said.


    <hr>


    <blockquote>


    ?¡±So airman my love, hold on to me tight, For I¡¯ve never yet mastered the power of flight! If you should let go it¡¯s a long way to fall, So I¡¯d rather not slip from your arms, not at all!¡±? ¡ªpopular Enerlish song, circa 09.06.03


    </blockquote>


    <h2>Dozing on a couch</h2>


    The Thundering Hall, St¨®rsteinn 09.06.03.10.03


    A knock on the door caused Jerl to realize his peculiar thoughts of wandering lost and looking for something he couldn¡¯t remember were only a dozing dream. The second knock woke him up properly. He sat up straighter, tidied himself up, cleared his throat, and called ¡°Come in!¡±


    He¡¯d been half-expecting Mouse, even though Mouse wouldn¡¯t have bothered to knock. Instead, a young woman poked her head around the door and gave him a wary smile. ¡°Captain Holten?


    ¡°You must be the researcher Sevjin mentioned,¡± Jerl gestured for her to come in fully, and rose to shake her hand. The word ¡®cute¡¯ flickered through his mind as an appropriate description: she was soft and short, round in both face and figure, with curly hair she¡¯d clearly never learned how to maintain properly and a nervous expression.


    A blush turned her skin pink as she shook his hand. ¡°Uh, yes. That¡¯s me. Captain Holten. I mean Alana. I¡¯m Alana, you¡¯re Captain Holten...¡± the blush got redder with every word as she trailed off into an embarrassed squeak.


    Oh dear. Jerl put on his warmest, least threatening smile and sat down again. ¡°I wasn¡¯t expecting to meet you until after the eclipse came. You must be busy preparing¡­¡±


    ¡°Oh, I¡­I already got all my¡­I already did all that.¡± She mumbled awkwardly, clutching a book and some notes like they were a comfort. She had a peculiar accent, Jerl thought. Half Storm Clan, half Garanese. But he guessed more of the latter: if she¡¯d been a full Clanswoman, she¡¯d have been tattooed and braided.


    Frudlend, he guessed. The vast, flat breadbasket of Garanhir which primarily exported crops, livestock, and bored people who wanted to live somewhere with actual terrain.


    ¡°Or¡­well¡­¡± Alana fidgeted a second, then took a suddenly energized step forward. ¡°Master Sevjin said you¡¯re looking to know about the Words. Nobody ever wants to know about the Words! I kind of¡­I maybe¡­um¡­¡±


    ¡°Dumped your chores on somebody else to come help me?¡± Jerl guessed.


    Scarlet now, she nodded wretchedly.


    ¡°Well¡­thank you. Won¡¯t you sit? Show me what you have already?¡±


    She nodded, and sat down with some visible relief. ¡°A-a¡­a lot of it, it¡¯s old¡­the, uhm. The Ordfey insisted it was just a human myth.¡±


    ¡°I remember, my quartermaster¡¯s an elf. She still clung to that line until very recently.¡±


    ¡°-R-right. Yes. They, uh, they insisted they were present on the Day of Creation and would remember the Words, but some of the earliest free human cultures claimed they learned about them from one of the Heralds.¡±


    ¡°Which one?¡±


    ¡°I, uh¡­I-I don¡¯t know.¡± Alana laid out her papers on the coffee table for him. ¡°most of them w-worshiped Raksuul as the protector goddess who took them out of slavery¡­¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not Rheannach, I know that much.¡±


    She gave him a surprised look. ¡°You do?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve met Rheannach. If the legend of the Words was her doing, she¡¯d have told me more than she did.¡±


    ¡°Oh! Well. Um¡ª¡±


    ¡°I think we can rule out Yngmir, Dragon and the Shisha too, for the same reasons.¡±


    Alana blinked at him for a second, then put her book aside. ¡°¡­I¡¯m¡­I¡¯m sorry, I should have asked. Who are you, exactly? Why are you looking to know more about the Words? And why are you coming to me if you¡¯ve spoken to the Heralds?¡±


    Jerl smiled, and exerted some of his power. She blinked, and in the time it took for her eyelids to start opening again, he¡¯d risen from his chair and moved to behind her.


    ¡°This is why,¡± he said.


    She made a strangled noise that was equal parts squeak and shriek, and flinched away from him, and Jerl held his hands up reassuringly.


    ¡°Sorry, sorry. I could have been more tactful.¡±


    Alana gaped wildly at him. ¡°What did you¡ª? How¡ª?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve spoken one of the Words of Creation.¡±


    Slack uncomprehension. She just stared at him. Jerl smiled, perched on the back of her couch, and waited for her mind to find its feet again. It took a while.


    ¡°That¡¯s,¡± she ventured, then added: ¡°But¡ª¡±


    ¡°Mhm.¡±


    ¡°No, you don¡¯t under¡ª I mean¡ª¡±


    ¡°Oh, I do. Believe me I do.¡±


    ¡°But¡ª¡± she repeated.


    ¡°Time, specifically,¡± Jerl revealed. ¡°I can move¡­very, very fast, now. And that¡¯s the least of its effects. I get premonitions of the future, know things I wouldn¡¯t otherwise know, and I even reset time back to a previous moment so I could do things differently.¡±


    ¡°But¡­.no, you can¡¯t¡ª¡±


    Jerl returned to his original seat while she was still in the middle of the word ¡®can¡¯t.¡¯ He didn¡¯t say anything, simply allowed the feat to speak for itself.


    Alana was silent several seconds longer, then finally pieced herself together. ¡°¡­Oh my.¡±


    ¡°Mhm.¡±


    ¡°Well, that explains why you want to know more, but¡­I don¡¯t know how much help I can be, if you have the ear of Heralds¡­¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m still interested,¡± Jerl reassured her. ¡°You never know what might be beneath their notice but turns out to be interesting. What have you got for me?¡±


    ¡°Uh, just what the ancient humans recorded of what they knew.¡± She indicated the books and sheafs she¡¯d laid down, and scooted forward to open and spread them out. ¡°You have to remember, the elves didn¡¯t let humans learn how to read and write, on pain of death. Still, a lot of brave humans did it anyway. But they didn¡¯t dare record very much, because any permanent writing they made would get them executed if it was found. The oldest human writings we have are on standing stones and walls in the grottos, glades and caves where the escaped slaves lived in small hidden communities.¡±


    She laid out a spread of pages. ¡°This is a copy of charcoal rubbings from the caves near Haptar Getesh.¡±


    Jerl frowned at the writing. It looked lke nothing so much as a series of lines with patterns of shorter strokes off it to either side. Each line was a word, maybe?


    ¡°The language is late Enslaved Pratherdesh Wightidh, which was common between Ekve¡¯s thirtieth-seventh and fortieth reigns,¡± Alana told him, gaining considerably in confidence now she was talking about something she¡¯d researched. ¡°Probably it remained unchanged from the earlier Prathardesh wightidh dialects thanks to the humans figuring out how to write but¡­anyway. What¡¯s interesting about the writings from these caves is they list twelve Heralds.¡±


    She flipped to the next page. ¡°See? Here are Rheannach, Maingan and Maicoh, The Shisha, Faun and Satyr, Yngmir and Dragon¡­.but then here is one more in Haust¡¯s pantheon, and three in Talvi¡¯s.¡±


    ¡°The lost four, yes,¡± Jerl nodded. ¡°The ones the elves say the Crowns never speak of.¡±


    ¡°Well, the ancient humans of Haptar Getesh had names for them,¡± Alana said, indicating lines with her finger. ¡°See? Chathamugah, Iaka, Vedaun and Nimico.¡±


    ¡°Hmm.¡± Jerl mused, scratching his beard.


    Alana turned the page. ¡°Anyway, the Words are mentioned on the dexter face of that Stele. Notice something?¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s a hierarchy to them,¡± Jerl leaned forward, reaching out to trace the lines and shapes of the old charcoal rubbing.


    ¡°Yes! Up here we have a root word, a master word of sorts. The Getesh ancients called it ¡®Being¡¯ or ¡¯Creation.¡¯ Then below that we have three words¡ªI¡¯ve not been able to translate their names¡ªthen a third order below that. That¡¯s where we find Time, over here on the left. And below that, there¡¯s a fourth order.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s damaged,¡± Jerl noted. Only one of the fourth-order words was intact: the rest of the rubbing was blank white, with a ragged edge suggesting at some point the stele had been eroded or smashed away in part.


    ¡°Yes. Whatever fourth-order words may follow on from Time, that¡¯s lost to us. And what the relationship between orders might be, I can¡¯t say. The ancient laid it out as though the words in a given order were descended from or part of the higher-order word, but then you have these other words up here, and maybe some more down here in the damaged section, that aren¡¯t part of the structure at all. I call them the ¡®transcendent¡¯ words. This is Magic, here¡¯s Mind¡­this one here, some people translate its name as ¡®thought¡¯ but I prefer Logic. And this over here is either Soul or Spirit. And there might be others. Didn¡¯t the Heralds tell you any of this?¡±


    ¡°Not a word. Nor did Prince Sayf.¡±


    ¡°Well¡­they have their reasons, I¡¯m sure.¡±


    ¡°Mhm.¡± Jerl nodded, thinking about the missing Heralds whom these people had apparently known, got information from, and named ¡®rebel.¡¯ The Crowns were careful with information about the Words. For one of their Heralds to reveal too much¡­


    He was still trying to figure out the shape of that thought and turn it around to fit into his growing picture of the world when a bell rang loudly, somewhere up above them among the Thundering Hall¡¯s gables. It was answered by other, more distant bells down in town. Eclipse was upon them.


    ¡°I¡¯d better find my crew, they should be up here by¡ª¡± he began, only for a familiar heavy-handed knock on the door to immediately presage Derghan¡¯s arrival, with Sin, Mouse, Marren, and Padraig in tow. Padraig in particular looked around and whistled appreciatively as they filed in.


    ¡°Promotion comes with nicer digs, I see.¡±


    ¡°Better get used to it,¡± Jerl flashed him a grin, then waved a hand at Alana, beckoning her to relax. She¡¯d surged to her feet and started gathering her papers and things. She turned pink, put them down again. ¡°Everyone, this is Alana, she¡¯s the clerk assigned to help us find what we¡¯re after.¡±


    Alana wilted under the barrage of friendly hellos, and mumbled something indistinctly polite. Poor girl. Jerl decided to take pity on her. ¡°You know what, there¡¯ll be plenty of time for research later, if you¡¯d rather¡ª¡°


    She bobbed gratefull and practically fled. Marren scratched his head as the door closed behind her.


    ¡°What¡¯s with her?¡±


    ¡°Hates being seen,¡± Mouse said, curling up on the couch next to Jerl. He didn¡¯t elaborate further and instead scowled around the room. ¡°Here, is this really lit well enough?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s fine,¡± Derghan assured him as he flopped down on the couch opposite. ¡°What, you¡¯re nervous?¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s lived on Alakbir since he was young,¡± Jerl pointed out. ¡°What is this, your first eclipse since you were a lad?¡±


    Mouse fidgeted a bit, but nodded.


    ¡°We¡¯ll be fine.¡± Sin poured herself in against Derghan and tucked her feet up under herself. She was definitely more physically intimate with Derghan nowadays, Jerl noticed. Perhaps they two of them had received some advice of their own at the Oasis¡­he hoped so. ¡°You¡¯d have to back into a corner to make a shadow dark enough for a Shade in here, and then it wouldn¡¯t be large enough. Besides¡­¡±


    She trailed off and grinned as, with immaculate timing, there was a swell of magical power like the distant sound of a choir taking up in song a few rooms away. A thrum passed through the floor and walls, and, gently, with a soft golden light, every inanimate object in the room started to glow. The couch, the tables, the hearth and wall hangings, the window frame and door, all were swiftly outlined in warm radiance.


    ¡°We¡¯re under a Herald¡¯s wings here,¡± Marren commented appreciatively. ¡°Bloody nice!¡±


    Outside, the bells rang again. One minute to go. There were a few shouts, a few distant bangings of closing doors¡­then a stillness. A familiar tension during which all the humans in the room plucked a stone from their pockets, and Sin shifted her hand up to the grip of her vamdraech. The minute passed in silence, punctuated only by the crackle of the fireplace.


    Then there was a feeling of weight. The window darkened, and the whole world became heavier somehow, as with some sense or another they became aware of an unguessable mass of rock far above. The Thundering Hall issued a prolonged creak as the light from the sun went away and the temperature plummeted. It sounded like the huge building was grumbling with displeasure.


    A first flake of snow fell past the window, followed by another, then a handful, then a bucketful, a flurry. The eclipse storm was a blizzard, it seemed.


    Jerl gave Mouse¡¯s white-knuckled hand a squeeze. ¡°See? Safe.¡±


    Mouse let out the breath he¡¯d been holding, cleared his throat, and nodded. Nobody made fun of him: if there was one fear in all the worlds that everyone shared, it was eclipse.


    Inside, though, their suite remained cozy and well lit. After a second, Padraig moved to the window and drew the curtains shut. The temptation was always there to look out and watch those twisted, wretched shapes lurching through the darkness, but it wasn¡¯t healthy.


    ¡°¡­Where does a fella get a drink in this place?¡± he asked.


    It lightened the mood. There were chuckles, Sin let go of her suicide knife, the magestones were returned to their pockets, and within minutes they were simply relaxing on nice couches in a cozy warm room again. Jerl showed them the documents Alana had brought him, and they conversed over what it might all mean, and what they should discuss with Yngmir when the time came.


    Jerl took Mouse aside. ¡°Where¡¯d you get to?¡± he asked.


    Mouse frowned at him. ¡°Can¡¯t you feel it?¡±


    ¡°Feel what?¡±


    ¡°I feel a¡­weight. Like there¡¯s a powerful attention turned our way. I was trying to find it, but¡­¡± Mouse sighed, and shook his head. ¡°I don¡¯t know. You don¡¯t have a premonition, do you?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Jerl assured, confidently.


    Mouse sighed in relief. ¡°Good. I guess I¡¯m just freaked out by the eclipse.¡±


    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t discount your power so lightly,¡± Jerl suggested. ¡°If you¡¯ve got a feeling, I¡¯d listen to it. What did it feel like?¡±


    ¡°Like¡­being watched.¡±


    ¡°By Civorage?¡±


    ¡°No¡­no. I¡¯d know his mind and power anywhere. This didn¡¯t feel like being watched by a person at all. It was just¡­whispers. Thousands of them, mindless whispers on the edge of consciousness.¡± Mouse fretted.


    ¡°Could be the Shades,¡± Jerl suggested.


    Mouse looked like he was listening for a moment, then shivered. ¡°¡­Maybe,¡± he agreed. ¡°I don¡¯t want to listen to them any more. Distract me?¡±


    Jerl chuckled, and took his hand and led him back to the couches.


    ¡°Gladly,¡± he said.


    <hr>


    If there was one sound that always lulled Jerl into a deep and perfect sleep, it was rain. His small room above the kitches back at the Rosehip Inn had faced toward Garanhir¡¯s leading edge, into the prevailing wind, and so every shower, squall, rainy day and storm had drummed on it. The sound of rain on glass was the sound of a cozy night¡¯s sleep to him, and that had only become stronger during his career on the Queen so that even the occasional flash and boom in the sky and the rattle and groan of the wind was soothing.


    He slept deeply, despite the unfamiliarity of the bedroom and the glow of magestones and Yngmir¡¯s power, until some point deep in the night when Mouse abruptly sat up, elbowing him sharply in the ribs as he did.


    ¡°Do you feel that?¡±


    Jerl shifted, groaned and rolled his shoulder to dispel some lingering numbness from his arm. Sleeping cuddled up was nice, but¡­


    The question¡¯s urgency finally sunk in. He sat up too and pulled the sleeping mask off his face to squint against the warm glow suffusing their room. ¡°Whuh¡­? Feel what?¡±


    ¡°¡­Malice.¡± Mouse sprang from bed and started dressing in a hurry.


    That was enough for Jerl. He swung his feet out of bed and groped around for his boots. ¡°Wake the others.¡±


    Mouse closed his eyes a second, then nodded and continued to shrug his clothes on. ¡°Done.¡±


    Jerl nodded. Through the wall he could hear the heavy sounds of Derghan rolling out of bed and cursing¡­oh! and the sound of Sin¡¯s voice, too? Interesting! But not relevant right now.


    Focus, Jerl.


    In moments he had his shirt and britches on, his gun belt buckled about his hips and he was in the middle of buckling up his coat when, with a smash, the window broke in and something small, round, dark and hard punched through it to land fizzing in the middle of the floor, the glowing end of its fuse just about to vanish into its iron casing¡­


    Time leapt at his command: he grabbed Mouse and was out of the room only just fast enough, wood splinters and shards of cast iron hurtled past, glinting evilly, and one crescent piece of grenade casing flayed Jerl¡¯s sleeve as he twisted himself to avoid it.


    He rolled, came up on his feet, and drew his saber. With a grunt of effort, he cast the only magic he knew: a light spell. The sword wouldn¡¯t glow for long, being such a refined piece of work, but he could make it shine brightly so long as he held it, and he had no intention of being Taken tonight.


    But what came through the smashed window was no Shade.


    It was an elf, naked, skinny and androgynous. Their hair was shaved except for a long crest, and their upper face, scalp, forearms, hands, feet and lower legs were stained black with an ink or dye that traced crawling, vine-like patterns across its torso. The pointy ears were pierced many times with bones and black stones, as were the lower lip, nose and brow.


    Nornfey. Hag elves.


    Featureless dark eyes glinted in the light from Jerl¡¯s sword as it raised a wicked long knife in a salute or challenge that Jerl didn¡¯t return: he threw himself into the attack with a pair of sabre strokes that first relieved the invader of their arm, then opened their throat to the spine. The elf collapsed, its expression chillingly unchanged and calm. There were two more with it, and Jerl cut them down with an ease that astonished even himself. The last time he¡¯d fought nornfey, they¡¯d been terribly dangerous foes, as fast and lethal as any elf could be.


    He only noticed that time was still running slow when he glanced at the hearth and saw a tongue of flame unravel with all the languid grace of ink in water.


    He let go. Mouse gasped, there was a twin yelp of alarm from the adjacent room, and moments later Derghan and Sin burst out the door with their weapons in hand.


    ¡°The fuck?!¡± Derghan demanded.


    Jerl didn¡¯t bother explaining. He could hear bells ringing across town again now. Not the one-two-three rhythm of an eclipse warning, but the desperate wild clamor of a call to arms. Out there among the lambent glow of Yngmir¡¯s protection, he saw flashes, sudden bursts of darkness, and dark shapes flitting between the pools of light.


    ¡°¡­Shit.¡± Sin cursed. ¡°What do we do?¡±


    Jerl flicked some unnervingly dark blood off his sabre¡¯s blade. ¡°We defend the hall. Come on!¡±


    Other blasts and shrieking elsewhere in the building. Somewhere outside, one of the clamoring bells fell silent.


    Oh, fuck, the Queen! If they got aboard and lit the powder store¡­


    She was too far away. And what were they going to do, sprint all the way down there in the middle of eclipse, storm and battle? Suicide. Especially when¡ª


    A man in an archivist¡¯s robes crashed out through a side door, coughing blood and trailing entrails from a hideous disembowelling wound. A hag elf surged out after him, the victim¡¯s blood standing out startling and vibrant on their unnaturally pale flesh: Derghan blew the marauder back through the door with a shot to the heart.


    It was just a drop in an ocean of suffering and madness. The air was thick with the scent of blood, and every few seconds another grenade exploded somewhere in the scribes¡¯ quarters. Each door they opened showed them a charnel scene of murdered innocents, or revealed another hag.


    They fled into the Thundering Hall¡¯s central vaulted chamber, where the first flicker of hope made itself known. Jerl had assumed the Thundering Hall¡¯s guards were there as a matter of course, mostly just there to handle the drudgework of keeping the place secure and maintaining the peace. He should have known that a Herald wouldn¡¯t permit themselves to be protected by the unskilled. As the fleeing archivists retreated into the inner hall, the guards brought up the rear in disciplined groups of three, fighting with shield and axe in the fore with a rifle behind.


    But retreating into the hall granted the hag elves more room to move. There were dozens of them emerging from side passages and out of the building¡¯s residential wings, and now that they weren¡¯t fighting in tight corridors, they could move like elves.


    They flitted noiselessly and without regard for the human limitations of speed and surface, like shadows cast on the wall by a flickering torch. They leapt like fleas, swarmed up the walls like geckos, sprang lightly among the balconies and rafters. Arrows lanced down at random, aimed cruelly at the noncombatants rather than anyone actually armed and resisting.


    The message was clear: you can¡¯t protect them.


    They seemed to be right, too. It didn¡¯t matter that Derghan¡¯s rifle spoke as often as he could work the lever, and that each shot sniped a pale figure from the rafters to come tumbling down in a spray of black. Each one that fell was replaced by two.


    ¡°How fuckin¡¯ many of these bastards are there?¡± Marren roared, as he thumbed another strip of rounds into his own rifle¡¯s magazine.


    ¡°All of them!¡± Sin replied. She whirled, and snatched an arrow out of the air that would have skewered a hapless librarian otherwise. ¡°All the Cronewood must be empty!¡±


    ¡°How?!¡± Padraig took careful aim and fired¡ªJerl didn¡¯t see what he was shooting at. ¡°And where¡¯s the Herald?!¡±


    ¡°Fuck that, where¡¯s Amir and the crew?¡± Derghan asked. ¡°Where¡¯s¡ª?¡±


    There was a furious howl from one side that made Jerl¡¯s heart leap even higher than it already was before he recognized it: wychwethel. Dozens of them. With a combined war-whoop, the R¨¹wyrdan Set exploded into the hall through the main doors, and pursued the Nornfey into the rooftops. The rain of arrows fell off sharply as the hag elves tried to form up and face them, but the R¨¹wyrdan gave them a hard chase. Jerl watched Harad in particular leap from beam to wall to beam again, his unusually heavy blade making a deep throbbing sound as it separated one of the twisted elves from their leg.


    Jerl jumped into the gap the milling, disjointed humans needed. ¡°Every man with a rifle, to the Herald¡¯s door!¡± he roared.


    The voice of leadership worked. The huddling, cowering groups of humans saw their chance to regroup. In seconds, a battle line had formed at Yngmir¡¯s huge study door, and it was here that they found a familiar figure tending the wounded.


    ¡°Amir! Winter¡¯s Tits it¡¯s good to see you, mate. Where¡¯s the Herald?¡±


    Amir gestured with his head toward the study. ¡°Meditating. This glow of his demands constant focus.¡±


    ¡°¡­Meaning if they get in and distract him¡ª¡±


    ¡°We will all be taken.¡± Amir nodded grimly. ¡°Do not let that happen, yes?¡±


    ¡°Roger!¡±


    The next several minutes smeared out into an age. Wherever Jerl went, Time turned the tide as he dove into a knot of Nornfey and took them apart with speed they couldn¡¯t match. But he couldn¡¯t be everywhere at once, and no matter what he did his intuitions and premonitions didn¡¯t so much as flicker. He had no inklings of where he should be or what he should do, beyond what his own skill and sense told him.


    It was as though it didn¡¯t matter, somehow. As if his presence couldn¡¯t possibly change the outcome of this night no matter what he did. As if¡ª


    There was a rippling boom from somewhere distant. A familiar one, followed by an incoming, mounting rushing¡ª


    ¡°DOWN!¡±


    He hit the deck and covered his head, not a second too soon. A series of explosions tore the end of the Hall open, blasting apart the huge front doors in a blizzard of splinters. Yngmir¡¯s light flickered and dimmed and Jerl grit his teeth as he forced light magic into all his clothes. He was an unpracticed, amateur mage at best, and the effort of it made his whole body sting, but it was sufficient: his shirt and breeches shone brilliantly for just long enough, and then the Herald¡¯s focus was restored and the Hall shone again.


    He clambered to his feet and took in the scene. Fortunately, the length of the hall had spared the defenders the worst of that barrage, so even though the long floor was littered with wicked wooden shards and the occasional twisted nail, nobody seemed to have been harmed by the salvo. But now, an army could march in¡­and indeed, it did. Nude pale forms poured in by the dozen.


    But Jerl¡¯s attention was on the clothed figure behind them.


    Nils Civorage was dressed in blue and cream, edged in gold. He hadn¡¯t bothered to draw his basket-hilted rapier, nor the ornate dueling pistol on the opposite hip. Instead, he strolled into the hall amidst his hag elf bodyguard and looked around with an air of vague disapproval.


    At Jerl¡¯s side, Derghan snarled and raised his rifle to shoot the bastard dead¡­but couldn¡¯t. No sooner did he have Civorage in the crosshairs than all will and motivation seemed to lose him. He blinked, then slumped in sudden listless defeat.


    The same was happening all around. The R¨¹wyrdans were slowing, lowering their weapons. The human guards became numb. Shields, axes and rifles dropped from fingers that suddenly lacked the will to hold them. Jerl could feel the silky insistence of Civorage¡¯s power blowing past him, like a rainstorm from inside a greenhouse. Only he and Mouse remained unaffected, while all around them, everyone else sank to their knees and stared slack-jawed.


    Well, no matter. He stood up and faced his enemy.


    Civorage smiled at him, and beckoned. ¡°Parlay, captain?¡± he asked. His voice was soft, gentle, even mellow. he didn¡¯t raise it, but still Jerl heard him perfectly well despite the hammering rain on the roof and the rumble of thunder and the distant sounds of battle.


    ¡°Fuck you,¡± Jerl replied, calmly.


    ¡°Oh, we may as well talk, mightn¡¯t we? After all, you can¡¯t kill me and I can¡¯t kill you¡­¡±


    Jerl grunted, glanced at Mouse, and together they descended the steps. ¡°I can damn well kill you,¡± he pointed out.


    ¡°You¡¯ll disembody me briefly, certainly. But this old thing? I¡¯ve had it quite long enough, I think. The right wrist pains me and tingles sometimes, my hips ache, my back is stiff, and reading is becoming quite difficult. You¡¯d be doing me a service, if you forced me to move on to something younger. I¡¯ve been training up a few promising young Circle youths for exactly that purpose, in fact¡­¡±


    Mouse shivered in revulsion.


    ¡°¡­But then what? You¡¯ll just step backwards in time, I suppose.¡±


    ¡°I suppose I will.¡± Jerl stopped ten feet away. The hag elves spread out, their impassive faces watching for the first flicker of movement. ¡°Why are you here, Civorage?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m here for the same thing you are: knowledge of the Words.¡±


    ¡°You won¡¯t get it.¡±


    ¡°Indeed. We have a sorry impasse, don¡¯t we? I can¡¯t beat you, because if I do, you¡¯ll simply undo my victory and try something different until you pull out an impossible win¡­or at least, sour my victory enough to seem worth it. Or you¡¯ll somehow know exactly what you need. Like my safe combination. I still find myself wondering how you did that. Did you turn back the clock thousands of times?¡± Civorage shook his head. His smile was almost affable as he turned his cool, blue eyes on Mouse. ¡°On which note¡­you, the usurper and thief, went and threw it away. Out of¡­what? Principle? Fear that I¡¯d get it back? Spite? I hope it was spite. Because in that regard, at least, you succeeded. It did sting, quite a bit.¡±


    ¡°Good,¡± Mouse replied.


    ¡°Hah! Spite after all, then¡­¡± Civorage looked around. ¡°So. What shall it be? Shall we snipe at each other and then engage in a brief and futile duel? Or shall we actually converse for once?¡±


    Careful. The word arrived in Jerl¡¯s mind from multiple sources at once, not least of which was his own sense of caution. Mouse¡¯s voice was in there too¡­and a third one. A powerful one.


    ¡°I fail to see how that might be productive for anyone but you,¡± he said aloud, putting a hand to his pistol.


    Civorage chuckled. ¡°Don¡¯t you have questions?¡± he asked. ¡°Burning questions about¡­oh. Why am I doing this? What makes me think I have the right?¡±


    ¡°I doubt you thought about it too hard,¡± Jerl replied, still gripping his pistol. ¡°You could, so you did. Might makes right.¡±


    ¡°Amazing how you manage to speak two such true and virtuous statements with such contempt.¡± Civorage replied. He started moving slowly around to Jerl¡¯s left, keeping his distance and his thumbs tucked unconcernedly into his coat pockets. ¡°I could, so I did. But captain, how many people go through life who can but don¡¯t?¡±


    ¡°Just because you can do something doesn¡¯t mean you should,¡± Jerl pointed out.


    ¡°And just because you think I shouldn¡¯t doesn¡¯t mean I shouldn¡¯t,¡± Civorage shot back. ¡°You¡¯re a passive man, captain. Your father was much more impressive in that regard¡ªdissatisfied with the life of a second son, he chose to step out from under his older brother¡¯s shadow and make something for himself and his heir. You have your airship because your father summoned up the strength and drive to make something happen. You, though¡­you just drift on the wind.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t know shit about my father,¡± Jerl growled.


    Civorage simply shrugged. ¡°I know a lot more about many more things than you guess, dear Timespeaker. Mind is a far more powerful tool than little miss ¡®leave me alone¡¯ here understands.¡±


    He smiled at Mouse, who scowled at him. ¡°You¡¯re a cute couple, really. Both of you pretending to be what you aren¡¯t. Jerl Holten pretending at being a man of ambition and will, and Kara Glazier pretending at being a man full stop.¡±


    Mouse stiffened. ¡°That name is dead to me,¡± he snarled.


    ¡°But not to your dear daddy. You know he wishes you¡¯d go back? Wishes you¡¯d stop pretending and he could have a daughter again? He wants to see what you¡¯d look like in your mother¡¯s clothes, and with long hair.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve spoken Mind too, Civorage,¡± Mouse retorted. ¡°I know my dad¡¯s thoughts.¡±


    ¡°Do you? Coward that you are, I doubt you¡¯ve looked deep enough. You¡¯re too afraid to look and see what he really feels.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve looked deep enough to know that people don¡¯t think just one thing,¡± Mouse spat back. ¡°Nobody does. Even if he does have those thoughts, they don¡¯t matter. He has other thoughts too.¡±


    Civorage smiled and looked up at the huddle of people standing transfixed by his will up by the Herald¡¯s doors. ¡°True. Most people are torn like that,¡± he agreed. ¡°Take that fat one on the left, there. Alana. There¡¯s hardly a person there at all, you know. Just a nebulous cloud of appetites and fears.¡±


    He skewered Jerl with a look. ¡°Why should I give a shit about the freedom and rights of someone so pathetic? She¡¯s nothing, Jerl. If you could see her from my perspective, you¡¯d understand. She¡¯s a soft creature, without the will to exercise or eat in moderation, without the courage to make the friends she so desperately wants, without the intellect to really understand all the books she¡¯s read. There¡¯s a lick of wit there, an admittedly impressive memory¡­but not a person. Not really a person.¡±


    ¡°Bullshit,¡± Jerl grunted.


    ¡°Heh! Oh, I can feel the outrage in your mind. You want to stick up for her, this girl you barely met. But Jerl¡­she¡¯s not happy.¡± He looked up at Alana and smiled sadly. ¡°She¡¯s stressed, and afraid, and lonely, and wishes she was prettier and more interesting. If I took her away to the circle, all those problems would be gone. The stress? gone. Somebody else¡¯s problem. The fear? She¡¯d have nothing to be afraid of. There¡¯s no such thing as loneliness in the Circle, and her looks would improve dramatically with the proper diet and exercise she¡¯d receive, and her ability to be interesting¡­irrelevant. I could solve all her problems like that.¡± He snapped his fingers. ¡°One small twitch of my power, and she¡¯d live out the rest of her days in productive, constructive, useful bliss. And the only price to pay would be the self-same free will that causes all her problems in the first place.¡±


    ¡°Sounds like a nightmare to me,¡± Jerl replied.


    ¡°Of course it does. You aren¡¯t like her, captain. You¡¯re cut from a completely different cloth. A worthier one. Bringing you into the Circle would be a waste.¡±


    ¡°A happy slave is still a slave. And yours don¡¯t even have the freedom to know they¡¯re enslaved.¡±


    ¡°Does it matter?¡± Civorage wiped a gloved finger along a bookshelf, inspected it, then pulled a face of mock approval. ¡°You¡¯re an absolutist thinker, captain. To you there is right and wrong, and nothing else. Slavery is always wrong, freedom is always right. It¡¯s dismayingly un-nuanced. Isn¡¯t the real test of morality in the results and consequences? And let us look about us to see how that is going, hmm?¡±


    He gestured to the door. ¡°Out there¡­the consequences of freedom. The Crowns live by their absolute vision of right and wrong, and so nightmares stalk the land, twisting everyone they touch into more of themselves. Out there on your ship is Ekve, and over there by Yngmir¡¯s door sits Bekhil, two of the worst and bloodiest murderers in history, whose tally of misery infinitely exceeds my own. And yet, the Crowns let their bloody regime run its course. In the name of freedom, they permitted slavery to endure! Hah!¡±


    He turned, and gestured to the hag elves. ¡°And here¡­proof positive that the Crowns¡¯ love is not unconditional. Do you know their history?¡±


    Jerl glanced at Mouse, who frowned back at him. This was a dangerous game they were playing, letting him speak. But¡­the more they learned of him and his thoughts, the more they let him carry on, the more he might slip up and say something they could turn against him.


    Jerl hadn¡¯t yet heard anything persuasive. In fact, he wasn¡¯t even sure he¡¯d heard anything heartfelt. Civorage was so¡­closed. It was difficult to imagine him having any real convictions.


    ¡°Only what Sin told me. That one day the elves all over the world felt a terrible anger, after which the Nornfey became their own distinct group, never reincarnating into other Set.¡±


    ¡°Oh yes. The anger of jilted gods,¡± Civorage chuckled again. ¡°Though, Bekhil¡¯s information is a little amiss. The Crowns¡¯ anger wasn¡¯t directed at these elves, no¡­if anything, I daresay you would call them victims.¡±


    Jerl and Mouse glanced at each other again. ¡°I¡¯ll bite¡­¡± Mouse ventured. ¡°Why would we call them that?¡±


    ¡°Because this wasn¡¯t their choice.¡± Civorage paused by one of the elves, whose dark eyes turned to look at him with an expression Jerl couldn¡¯t quite read, but which he felt via Mouse.


    Like the thoughtless adoration of a dog.


    ¡°This was¡­done to them?¡± Mouse asked.


    ¡°Oh yes. Just the same as I give the gift of the Circle to useless creatures like your librarian girl up there, these useless creatures¡ªsupremacists whose only dream was a return to the slaughter and debauchery of the Ordfey¡ªwere given a similar gift. Not by me of course, their change was imposed on them long before I was born.¡±


    ¡°Then by who?¡± Jerl asked.


    ¡°My dear captain, surely you¡¯re smart enough to have put the pieces together by now?¡± Civorage stroked the elf¡¯s translucent chin affectionately, exactly like a man giving a collie a scratch behind the ears, then turned to quirk an eyebrow at him. ¡°Or are you really arrogant enough to assume you¡¯re the only one with Heralds on your side?¡±


    As the long silence that followed went on, his smile got slowly wider.


    ¡°You were, weren¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t even know about the forgotten four until today,¡± Jerl admitted.


    ¡°The forsaken four,¡± Civorage corrected him. ¡°The rebel four, cast out by their own creators for daring to disagree with the Crowns¡¯ great plan. My partners.¡±


    ¡°Your masters,¡± Jerl shot back.


    ¡°Heh! No. So wrong, it¡¯s not even insulting.¡± Civorage shook his head. ¡°They¡¯re like me, they understand that most people are born to serve, and some few are born to guide them. And just like the Crowns chose you for your Word and set it in your path, the Forsaken chose me for mine and pointed me toward it. Though, of course, I only learned of this after I had already passed their test.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s what you tell yourself?¡±


    Civorage laughed, and shook his head again. ¡°Jerl¡­you really disappoint me. Here I thought a man who¡¯d had his perspective expanded by a Word wouldn¡¯t be so closed.¡±


    ¡°And you¡¯re open? No. No, you¡¯re just the man who¡¯s desperate to be the good guy and is willing to lie to himself to manage it,¡± Mouse replied. ¡°You haven¡¯t mastered Mind, Nils. If you think Alana¡¯s weak for her appetites, then what does that make you? You saw a chance to become the richest being in existence, and you pounced on it.¡±


    ¡°And who are you?¡± Civorage¡¯s disapproval made the walls shake. ¡°A weak little girl pretending at being a boy, and a sneak thief. Your greatest desire is to go unnoticed. Mine is reshape an unjust reality! Can¡¯t you see what I¡¯m thinking? No more suffering, no more slavery, no more abusive or neglectful parents, no more wars, no more tyrants¡ª¡±


    ¡°¡ªNo more desire, no more ambition, no more peace, no more art, no more freedom¡ª¡± Jerl countered, interrupting him.


    ¡°No more SHADES!¡± Civorage snapped. ¡°The Crowns could have got rid of them any time they wanted! They could have fixed what they broke! Instead we have to cower all the dark night from the monsters they created and they allow to exist! And why? Because it might tip one of them past the point of no return? Because E?rrach can¡¯t bear the thought of losing one of his harem?¡±


    He scoffed and shook his head. ¡°How many people are doomed to that?¡± He waved a hand back out through the dark, smashed doors ¡°Millions? Billions? They could all be saved, but they won¡¯t be. The Crowns aren¡¯t willing to make that sacrifice for us.¡±


    ¡°Or maybe they know something you don¡¯t,¡± Jerl retorted. ¡°But we¡¯ve talked long enough, Civorage. Is this conversation all you came here for?¡±


    ¡°Oh, no. I came here to conquer and seize. I wasn¡¯t expecting to find you here. You¡¯ve surprised me, and thwarted me. No matter what I do at this point¡­oh, I could instruct everyone here to drop dead on the spot of a heart attack, or fall into a sleep from which they¡¯ll never wake, but so what if I do? You¡¯ll just un-do it. No, the bitch-thaighn¡¯s curse strikes again, it seems¡­no matter. You can¡¯t be everywhere at once.¡±


    He turned and strode away toward the door. In his wake, the hag elves dropped from the rafters and followed.


    ¡°So long, Jerl. So long Kara. Until one or the other of us has the power to finally win this thing,¡± he called over his shoulder, and strode out into the dark to vanish from sight.


    The silky pressure of his power slipped away with him, like he¡¯d been casting a long shadow that withdrew as he stepped out of the light. People stirred, blinked, rose to their feet, picked up their dropped weapons. The entire hall seemed to exhale.


    Back up by the study doors, Derghan flopped over on his back, groaning and holding his head. ¡°Fuck. Me.¡±


    ¡°Is everyone okay?¡± Jerl trotted back up the stairs to check on him.


    Derghan massaged his temples. ¡°Ugh¡­bastard knows how to torment a man, sure enough. Motherfucker.¡±


    Jerl looked around. Dammit. He¡¯d been right, the conversation had served Civorage well. He could see it in all their faces, the abused, violated expressions. Sin was staring off into infinite distance with tears threatening to break through her control. Amir¡¯s eyes were closed and he was taking deep, steadying breaths through his nose, meditating himself to calm. Harad¡¯s knuckles were pale and his eyes wide with blistering fury. Alana, nearby, was weeping in a ball, scratching at herself as though all her skin itched. Marren flexed his hands like he wanted nothing more than to break something.


    He would have wrested quite a lot from their minds, Jerl realized. And could have planted anything. Could have turned any of them.


    Dammit.


    Mouse squeezed his arm. ¡°Don¡¯t let him make you paranoid,¡± he said. ¡°That¡¯s his strongest weapon.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s going to destroy the Queen¡­¡± Derghan groaned, pushing himself upright, but Jerl shook his head.


    ¡°No. He knows I¡¯d draw back time if he did that.¡±


    ¡°But¡ª¡±


    Jerl put a hand on his shoulder reassuringly. ¡°It¡¯s okay, Derg. She¡¯ll be okay.¡±


    The small postern door in Yngmir¡¯s huge study doors swung open, and a nervous face peeked out: Sevjin. He looked around the hall, at the damage, the dead and the wounded, and then at Jerl.


    ¡°Captain Holten? You¡¯re wanted in the Herald¡¯s study.¡±


    ¡°...I bet he fuckin¡¯ does want to talk, at last,¡± Derghan grunted.


    Jerl clapped his shoulder again, traded ¡®I¡¯m okay¡¯ nods with Sin, patted Amir¡¯s back, traded up-nods with Marren and Padraig, and followed the senior scribe through the door.


    Yngmir was much as he remembered: huge as an airship in his own right, finely dressed, his beard and hair as well-groomed as his clothing, seated upon a sculpted oak tree for an office chair. The ledger on his desk must have been the death of herds of cattle just to bind it, never mind the parchment, nor the ocean of ink written upon it with a pen the size of a great spear.


    For the moment, however, his eyes were closed and his hands rested lightly on the arms of his chair. Light seemed to flow from his fingertips, along the branches and down the trunk, down into the roots from whence it spread out in rippling waves to suffuse the Thundering Hall and its township. He did not acknowledge Jerl¡¯s arrival in any way


    ¡°Lord Herald¡­?¡± Jerl ventured.


    There was a soft whispering noise, like a train of silk cloth being drawn over a polished wood floor, and a figure in white robes emerged from behind Yngmir¡¯s chair. Her cowl was drawn low over her face, so that all that could be seen was a pair of thin, pale lips. She smiled at him, took a step to her right to pass back behind the tree, but did not emerge from the other side. When placed a hand on Jerl¡¯s shoulder from behind as though she¡¯d always been standing beside him, he somehow didn¡¯t flinch.


    ¡°He¡¯s too busy,¡± she said, and gave her giant herald a fond smile. ¡°He insists on doing this himself.¡±


    Jerl turned to face her. ¡°¡­Lady Haust,¡± he greeted her, stiffly.


    Her lips moved sideways in a rueful, almost apologetic little smile. ¡°You feel aggrieved.¡±


    ¡°How am I supposed to be entrusted with this if you all won¡¯t tell me everything?¡±


    ¡°How are we supposed to tell you what we don¡¯t know for certain ourselves?¡± she replied. With a gesture, she summoned two chairs from across the study and sat in one, inviting him to sit opposite her.


    Jerl frowned at her a moment, then accepted the invitation. Truthfully, he was glad to be off his feet: the adrenaline of the brief fight and the tension of the conversation with their enemy were fading now, and he hadn¡¯t had enough sleep: tiredeness was settling on his bones like a flock of birds coming in to roost. ¡°Well, you know now.¡±


    ¡°Yes. Civorage was kind enough to confirm it.¡±


    ¡°But you suspected. You could have told me you suspected.¡±


    ¡°Maybe we should have. Though, there is rather a lot we suspected that turned out to be wrong¡­¡±


    To his astonishment, she reached up and flipped her cowl back. All of her cultivated mystique and shadow went with it as Jerl found himself looking upon a quite normal face. Narrow, but not gaunt, with no more than a hint of cheekbones. Pretty, in a bland and forgettable way, framed by an unfashionable and unsculpted short frizz of dull hair that couldn¡¯t quite decide if it was blonde, or brown, and compromized on a lustreless ginger. He¡¯d expected a youthful, fresh complexion but actually she wore enough lines and wrinkles to suggest the threshold of middle age. It was the sort of face he might spot ten times just walking around any major city, scrubbing clothes or collecting the groceries.


    But she was a Crown. Her face could be whatever she wanted. This one could be the mask she calculated was most appropriate to his mood in that moment.


    ¡°Don¡¯t say it. You¡¯re not only human,¡± Jerl told her.


    ¡°We are in the ways that really count, deep down.¡± She glanced toward the door, then up at Yngmir. ¡°¡­The biggest one being, we fuck up.¡±


    Jerl watched her for a moment. Part of him wanted to¡­what? To suddenly mistrust her? To treat every word and deed as just another facet of an elaborate lie?


    Was that his voice urging him, or Civorage¡¯s?


    Dammit. He should never have let the bastard say his piece. But he had. And the only fair thing he could do now was to let Haust say hers.


    He sighed, and sat back.


    ¡°¡­What happened?¡± he asked.


    <hr>

 Chapter 15: The Forsaken

    Chapter 15: The Forsaken


    <hr>


    <blockquote>


    ¡°I remember the day of creation clearly, and I tell you I saw twelve Heralds arrayed behind the Crowns at the moment of waking. Behind Lady Haust I saw a tall, dark man with his hair worn in a high knot. And behind Queen Talvi, I saw a pale man with white wings, a slender golden-haired woman whose eyes shone like the sun, and a quiet, darkly clad woman who wore blue flame like a shawl. What has become of them, it seems, nobody knows¡­¡± ¡ªAmisten Henrutcof Llenava, Memories of the Deep Past.


    </blockquote>


    <h2>The Firstmote</h2>


    somewhere in the endless sky 01.01.01.01.01.01


    ¡°And there they go¡­¡± King E?rrach exhaled heavily, tipped his head back and sighed as though a heavy weight had finally been taken from his shoulders just as it was becoming unbearable. Around them, the vast stone bowl of this amphitheatre, which just moments ago had been packed shoulder-to-shoulder with two million blinking, naked, newly woven mortals, now echoed with silence. They were out in the world, now. Their world, to explore and do with as they pleased.


    ¡°That¡¯s¡­it?¡± Chathamurgah asked.


    ¡°They have everything they need,¡± his Crown told him. Chathamurgah wasn¡¯t sure what to make of his creator and patron. She was so¡­small. So light, and so frail. He wanted to protect her, despite knowing her power eclipsed his by an inexpressable degree.


    ¡°I¡¯m worried for them,¡± Chathamurgah insisted. ¡°It¡¯s a big and dangerous world you¡¯ve made for them, and they have no tools, no clothes, no¡ª¡±


    She smiled, and took his hand reassuringly. ¡°They have knowledge, and they have each other,¡± she said. ¡°I promise you, they¡¯ll thrive.¡±


    ¡°Except for the ones who die.¡±


    Haust nodded slowly. Her thin lips pursed in an expression of¡­what? It was so hard to tell with her eyes hidden thus. There may have been sympathy there¡­but not much, as her next words revealed.


    ¡°Some of them will, yes,¡± she said.


    ¡°You could have given them more.¡±


    She looked directly at him at last, insofar as he could tell. She must be using senses other than sight to look past that opaque veil. ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°Why didn¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°Death is not so terrible as you think,¡± Haust told him. ¡°They will have full and worthwhile lives.¡±


    ¡°Then why did you make us eternal?¡± Chathamurgah asked, indicating himself and his fellow Heralds. Most of the others had sidled closer to listen to this conversation, though Maicoh, Maingain, Faun and Satyr had wandered off to go play in the waterfalls. ¡°It doesn¡¯t seem fair, somehow. That we should have immortality and all this power, and they should be sent naked out into a world that can so easily kill them¡­¡±


    ¡°Is fairness the only moral concern?¡± Haust asked.


    Chathamurgah paused and glanced around at the others. Dragon was shaking her head as though the answer was an obvious no. Yngmir, towering over the rest of them, was stroking his beard thoughtfully as he weighed the question. Rheannach seemed to have lost interest and was staring at King E?rrach. And the Shishah was grinning like a lunatic, utterly unreadable.


    Vedaun and Nimico glanced at each other, shrugged, and walked away. Only Iaka met Chathamurgah¡¯s eye, then looked up at the sky with an expression of deep sorrow.


    ¡°It does seem¡­even if death is not so terrible, they¡¯re going to suffer,¡± she ventured. ¡°Must they?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m afraid they must,¡± Haust replied solemnly.


    ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°To avoid worse,¡± Queen Talvi told her. ¡°You will understand, in time.¡±


    Iaka and Chathamurgah looked at each other. Chathamurgah could tell what was going through his cousin Herald¡¯s thoughts, because it was the same one passing through his own: why can¡¯t it be made obvious right now?


    Nothing had, so far. The world didn¡¯t make sense. In the few days he¡¯d existed, these Crowns who¡¯d made them had been kind, tender, clearly fond of them, but also aloof. And much of what they did didn¡¯t quite seem perfectly just to him, somehow. Take Rheannach, for instance, who was still gazing at E?rrach with fathomless adoration in her eyes. Had he created her just to receive her unconditional love? That seemed¡­


    Well, it made him uncomfortable, for reasons he couldn¡¯t quite put into words yet.


    Haust touched his arm gently. ¡°Come on. The world is waiting. You won¡¯t figure it all out by staying here.¡±


    Chathamurgah shook off his melancholy feeling and nodded, looking up at the sky. All those floating lands out there, and right now there were humans and elves exploring them and figuring out how they were going to last through the first day, the first night, and the day beyond.


    He wanted to help them. But for now, all he could do was wish them good luck.


    They were going to need it, he felt.


    <hr>


    <h2>Interlude: Yngmir¡¯s Study</h2>


    The Thundering Hall 09.06.03.10.03


    ¡°I see a pattern,¡± Jerl said.


    ¡°In what?¡± Haust asked, pausing.


    ¡°In the kinds of Heralds you made. You each had a¡­I guess you¡¯d call it a theme.¡±


    She sighed, then nodded with a tiny, self-effacing smile. ¡°Yes we did. King E?rrach wanted companions, a loving wife and two faithful hounds. Prince Sayf wanted teachers who would educate mortals through the medium of baffling, entertaining, thought-provoking riddles.¡±


    ¡°And you meanwhile created the Herald of Lore¡ª¡± Jerl motioned to Yngmir, who was still deep in his meditative trance above them, ¡°Dragon, the Herald of Secrets¡­and Chathamurgah. The Herald of¡­?¡±


    She sighed. ¡°Critique.¡±


    There was a long silence. Somewhere outside, Jerl could hear the sounds of activity. People tending the wounded and making repairs, he supposed. But here in Yngmir¡¯s study, the only sounds were the ticking of his gigantic clock, the rumble of his slow, immense breath, and the soft creak of his tree.


    And, faintly, the rustle of fabric as Haust smoothed her skirts. ¡°You¡¯re right,¡± she said. ¡°To Yngmir I gave a tremendous memory and the wisdom to make sense of all he learned. To Dragon I gave the shrewd intellect to both uncover and keep the world¡¯s secrets. But to him, I gave what I considered the greatest gift of the three: the courage and cleverness to question everything.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°Because critique, doubt, skepticism and rational deconstruction are powerful tools, Jerl. And they are necessary tools. You can¡¯t take absolutely everything on faith, and you can¡¯t make sense of the world only by gathering data. You have to do some thinking, eventually.¡±


    She sighed again, and bowed her head. ¡°Unfortunately¡­that way there lie some deadly traps.¡±


    <hr>


    <blockquote>


    ¡°What is there to say of Vathelan? Oh, the City of Arts! The human city of Auldenheigh grew from its ruin like a tree planted in a corpse, and is splendid enough in its way, but Vathelan¡¯s central purpose was to showcase the artistic brilliance of elves. It was a testament to everything we fey loved about ourselves. Which of course means that among the wonderful arts we celebrated in Vathelan was the art of slaughter. I prefer Auldenheigh.¡± ¡ªAmisten Henrutcof Llenava, Memories of the Deep Past.


    </blockquote>


    <h2>The slave markets</h2>


    Vathelan, Garanhir Earthmote Hundred and ninety-eighth year of the Ordfey


    Officially, to the elves, the great city of Vathelan consisted in its entirety of the gleaming walled city perched on its rocky outcropping by the river Ardha: the sprawling, undefended human quarters outside the walls were the Kinelai, literally the Place For Slaves, and if those quarters had any other name at all it was in Wightidh and the elves did not deign to know it.


    To Chathamurgah, such proud inequity made no sense at all.


    The Kinelai were, of course, less beautiful than the City of Arts, but no less expertly made. After all, the stonemasons, carpenters and other workers who had erected those gleaming walls were all human, and they took their skill to making their own dwellings. They were forbidden from making their quarter as grand as the Feylai, and they of course had to work in whatever spare time the masters granted them¡­but it was theirs. And thus, in its way, quainter and nicer.


    The Feylai was a gleaming monument to elvish sensibilities about aesthetic beauty and their own glory, and that made it cold and aloof to Chathamurgah¡¯s eyes: the Kinelai on the other hand was a place where people lived and wished to fill their lives with as much relief from their hardship as they could. There were the planters and window boxes, for instance. No flowers, as those were the exclusive preserve of the Fey, so instead the Kinelai was a riot of cooking herbs, great tumbling sprays and bushes of them that made the air smell and taste alive. There were murals, painted carefully inside the lines of permitted artistic expression. There was song, each one flirting with censorship in a daring game with death as the reward for those who misjudged a step.


    There was freedom, even though every single human here had a leather collar tight around their neck to remind them they were slaves.


    Chathamurgah was incognito, having taken the guise of a green-skinned G?lfey, though the disguise was marred by the absence of the usual entourage of slaves. Even the lowest, meanest elf had at least one trotting along at their heels at all times with their eyes dutifully downcast. Still, the humans hurried out of his way as he strode through the streets, bowing and shutting up so that Chathamurgah was the center of a moving circle of silence. It bothered him terribly. He¡¯d have preferred to hear the laughter, chatter and music that filled these streets when the Masters weren¡¯t about. But this was the middle of the market day, and he was not the only elf on the streets.


    He was also spoiling his disguise by going on foot rather than being borne on a palanquin. To the eyes of other elves, this G?lfey must be completely destitute, without even a personal slave to scurry in his shadow.


    He didn¡¯t care.


    Rather than pass through the gates into the slave market itself, he trotted up some steps to the encircling gallery where the Fey buyers could recline and socialize while their slaves attended to the actual work and business of buying new kine at the various auctions below. From this vantage, the market was divided into square stockades of varying fullness, with sellers proclaiming the kind and fitness of their ¡°wares.¡± The largest stockades were in the middle, dealing with laborers and workers whose lives would be spent working hard where the Masters couldn¡¯t see them. The ring outside them were house slaves, servants, cooks, cleaners, and all the others whom the elves might have to actually have to see from time to time.


    Outermost and closest to the galleries were the valuable slaves: entertainers, personal attendants, pleasure slaves and gladiators. And, lounging against the railings and considering them, was the woman he¡¯d come to see.


    She was a Taranfey to look at, her skin as blue as distant stormclouds, her hair dark as eclipse, her eyes the blue of burning rum. She had an entourage of three slaves standing meekly alongside, two girls of perhaps thirteen, and one strapping, broad-shouldered man in his twenties who stepped forward to intercept Chathamurgah¡¯s approach.


    ¡°Your pardon, lord. My mistress¡¯ wish is solitude¡­¡± he began.


    It¡¯s me.


    His ¡®mistress¡¯ looked up, then waved a languid hand. ¡°Thank you, Berdel. Let him pass.¡±


    Chathamurgah nodded at the man, then slumped down on the couch opposite his cousin.


    ¡°You know you may as well be trying to empty the Blue Sea with a thimble,¡± he pointed out as he sat.


    ¡°It¡¯s good to see you too, cousin,¡± she said.


    ¡°Iaka¡ª¡±


    She flashed him a disapproving look. ¡°Where¡¯s your subtlety? Here and now, I am Emrys.¡±


    ¡°We shouldn¡¯t have to be subtle,¡± He retorted.


    The disapproving look became a cold stare for a second, then she turned and indicated a slave with a lift of her chin. ¡°See that one?¡±


    Chathamurgah looked. There was a boy waiting to go up on one of the auction blocks. He was maybe seven or eight years old, with a curly mop of blond hair and wide, innocent, worried blue eyes.


    ¡°What about him?¡±


    ¡°Pretty, isn¡¯t he? Very¡­tempting.¡±


    They both frowned at each other in mutual distaste at her mockery of how an elfish noble would describe the child.


    ¡°¡­Your point?¡±


    ¡°If you out me, I won¡¯t be able to buy him. If I don¡¯t buy him, someone else will. And then, if he¡¯s lucky, his future involves¡ª¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t need to hear what his future involves, I know quite well enough,¡± Chathamurgah stopped her.


    ¡°Then you understand why we have to be subtle,¡± she said.


    It was Chathamurgah¡¯s turn to give her a cold look, which he turned out and indicated a slave at random, a woman in her forties somewhere in the middle ring. ¡°What about her?¡±


    ¡°What about her?¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s her fate? Working in the kitchens until her joints fail? Or him: the mines. Him: the arena. Her: the stables. Don¡¯t they deserve your care?¡±


    ¡°They do, yes.¡±


    ¡°But the boy deserves it more?¡±


    ¡°If I can¡¯t save everyone, I shouldn¡¯t save anyone. Is that what you¡¯re saying?¡± she challenged.


    ¡°You have the right to decide, as the Fey do, who gets to live and who gets to die. Is that what you¡¯re saying?¡± he retorted.


    ¡°Better to save one than none,¡± she shot back. ¡°And you know the fine line we are both already walking. So shut up before someone overhears us.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re forgetting what we are, Herald Iaka. Nobody overhears us unless we allow them to,¡± Chathamurgah said. He looked around to illustrate his point: the most interest either of them had drawn was a nearby G?lfey woman who looked him up and down with the calculating air of a rich bitch deciding whether she liked his physique and handsome face enough to overcome his obvious financial and social inadequacies, and whether the minor frisson of scandalously ¡®roughing it¡¯ with the poor was sufficiently enticing¡­and decided that it wasn¡¯t. She turned her attention back to the slave market, and thereby rather perfectly proved him right.


    Iaka sighed. ¡°Fine. What do you want, Murgah?¡±


    ¡°I need your help.¡±


    ¡°You?¡±


    ¡°I need to talk with Vedaun and Nimico. It would be¡­ideal¡­if you could be there as well.¡±


    She sipped her wine, then gestured at her buyer out on the market floor as the boy was ushered up onto the block for sale.


    ¡°¡­Talk to them about what?¡± she asked.


    ¡°About uniting. About going to our Crowns and putting our case to them. They¡¯re your siblings, if all three of you made a united case to Talvi¡ª¡±


    She scoffed, but said nothing.


    ¡°You don¡¯t think it¡¯ll work.¡±


    Iaka¡¯s lack of reply was reply enough. She sipped her wine again, and watched as her buyer¡¯s opposition backed down defeated in the face of an exorbitantly high bid. The trembling boy was led from the block and handed over, little suspecting that he was about to enter a life of comfort, safety and warmth. It was no wonder Iaka¡¯s other ¡®slaves¡¯ all adored her so much: she was unfailingly kind to them, and the very first gift they had received from her was their freedom.


    A meaningless gesture, Chathamurgah thought. What could they do with it? Where could they go? It was an illusion of freedom, the gesture without the substance. But, to one dying of starvation, even table scraps were magnanimity.


    ¡°You said it yourself,¡± he pressed, softly. ¡°One is better than none. It¡¯s just one drip of water, maybe, and your mother may be made of granite. But with enough time, with enough drops¡­¡±


    Iaka sighed heavily. ¡°Shut up.¡±


    He did so. She watched as the boy was led to her wagon, there to join whichever few others she¡¯d decided were worthy of being saved over all the rest today. Once he was aboard and the door locked, she drained the last of her wine and set down the empty goblet with angry firmness.


    ¡°Fine. I¡¯m in.¡±


    Chathamurgah almost asked if she was sure. He blinked at her, wondering whether something else or somebody else¡¯s words had also touched and influenced her.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± he said, aloud.


    ¡°Where and when?¡± She asked, still watching the slaves as if hunting for one more who caught her whim.


    ¡°Vedaun¡¯s longhouse, tomorrow.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll be there.¡±


    ¡°Thank you, Iaka.¡± He stood.


    ¡°Nimico, though?¡± She asked, as he turned to leave. ¡°My sister is not exactly known for her charitable moods. She would be a strange ally in this cause.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve thought of that.¡±


    ¡°And the idea of you and Vedaun seeing eye-to-eye is¡ª¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve thought of that too. Please, cousin¡­¡±


    ¡°Have some faith?¡± she asked, gently mocking him.


    ¡°Precisely the opposite.¡± He walked away. His step was brisk and angry, but inside he was almost smiling. Almost.


    The first and most difficult hurdle had been crossed.


    <hr>


    In defiance of the cold (not that it could harm him anyway) Vedaun was stripped to the waist when they arrived. When Chathamurgah and Iaka emerged from the conifer forest around his longhouse, he glanced briefly at them, then returned to the business of splitting firewood with the axe that had become his symbol.


    It was an affectation, of course. He was a Herald, any fire in his presence could burn indefinitely without fuel. But that would have been dishonest in Vedaun¡¯s particular definition of the word, and Vedaun had very much to say on the subject of honesty. Hence why his longhouse was built entirely by hand, from timber he¡¯d felled himself, on ground he¡¯d leveled by hand and with tools he¡¯d forged himself on the anvil he¡¯d cast himself from iron he¡¯d mined himself¡­


    It had been the labor of generations. The work of dozens, even hundreds of men, all done by one man. Or at least, one Herald limiting himself to mortal strength and capability.


    And once it was built, he¡¯d continued to improve and maintain it. Vedaun had invented his own new techniques as he mastered carpentry, stoneworking, ironworking, weaving and more, and the product of his long work was breathtaking in its austere subtlety¡­.just like Vedaun himself, who was twice as tall as a mortal man but proportioned so naturally that one would only know it on standing beside him.


    He tossed the split fuel onto the stack next to him, and started trimming down some kindling as they approached. From behind, his entirely hairless snow-pale skin showed off the landscape of his back muscles as they worked and moved, steaming in the cold air.


    ¡°What do you two want?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Your help,¡± Chathamurgah replied.


    ¡°With?¡±


    ¡°The Ordfey.¡±


    ¡°Hah!¡± Vedaun pulled a rag out of his belt and wiped the axe blade clean before hanging the tool safely under the eaves. ¡°No.¡±


    ¡°You haven¡¯t heard us out yet,¡± Iaka replied.


    ¡°What is there to hear?¡± Vedaun started gathering fuel into his arms. ¡°You want to, what? Change the Ordfey? Destroy it? Re-educate the elves?¡±


    ¡°We want the Crowns to.¡±


    Vedaun¡¯s scathing bark of a laugh echoed off the mountains. He pulled himself together quickly and looked her in the eye. ¡°¡­You¡¯re serious?¡±


    ¡°We are,¡± Chathamurgah replied.


    ¡°Hah! Oh, you poor idealistic fools¡­come in.¡± He tucked the bundle of firewood under his arm and led the way inside. He stacked the wood next to the stone trough that was his hearth and shrugged into a comfortable green woollen tunic with his own distinctive, elegant, geometric patterning around the hem and sleeves. ¡°Bretha!¡± he called. ¡°We have company.¡±


    A figure napping on a wide fur-strewn bed in the corner stirred and sat up, drawing one of the furs up to her breast for modesty. She was human, in her fifties or so, with dark brown hair long since shot through with strands of grey. She blinked at Murgah and Iaka with sleepy confusion, and started casting around for something to dress herself. ¡°¡­oh!¡±


    Vedaun gestured and a screen folded at the bed¡¯s end unfolded itself, giving her the privacy to dress. ¡°Lazy,¡± he chided, fondly. She just scoffed and said something mildly disrespectful.


    Iaka sat on the bench Vedaun indicated for her and smiled. ¡°You¡¯re right, you know.¡±


    ¡°About what?¡±


    ¡°Oh, something you said about two hundred years ago. ¡®A man can build the grandest hall in the worlds, but it will remain incomplete until a woman lives there.¡±


    ¡°I said that? Well, I was right.¡± Vedaun cast a fond look at the divider as he sat down, and Bretha stuck her head out long enough to smile at him before vanishing again.


    ¡°How did you meet?¡± Iaka asked. ¡°You would never take a slave wife.¡±


    ¡°Indeed not. Bretha is a free tribeswoman, her people have never been collared.¡± Vedaun looked smug on his mortal wife¡¯s behalf. ¡°In fact, I met her after she slew an elfish slave-taker who¡¯d been tracking her. She reversed their roles, to his brief surprise.¡±


    Bretha emerged from behind her screen, tying her belt to cinch her dress in at her waist. ¡°The trick to fighting an elf: attack them first,¡± she said with a smirk, then poked Vedaun¡¯s bald scalp. ¡°Husband, your manners. Fetching the ale and meat is your task while I lay the board for guests.¡±


    Vedaun chuckled and rose. ¡°Right you are,¡± he agreed.


    Iaka and Murgah exchanged a look, and knew right away there was no point in protesting or trying to skip this step. They were in Vedaun¡¯s house, and would follow his rules or get nowhere. So, they sat and drank tea while the board and meat were fetched, the board laid, and Bretha played a bowed lyre for them while they enjoyed the hospitality of the house.


    Vedaun seemed to be enjoying himself. Whether he enjoyed making them do things at his pace, or was simply glad to have the company, Murgah couldn¡¯t decide. Either way, impatience would win nothing and potentially cost everything, so he restrained himself and partook.


    After the music, Vedaun escorted them into a shuttered verandah where Bretha had lit another fire pit in the midst of a quartet of reclining couches with a stunning view of the glaciers running down on the other side of the valley. The balance of flame and frozen breeze was oddly pleasant, and Vedaun handed around long-stemmed smoking pipes to relax with. Murgah had no idea what he¡¯d packed them with, but it had a heady scent and a pleasant taste.


    Either way, it seemed this was the moment when Vedaun was finally willing to discuss their business again.


    ¡°I don¡¯t understand what you think you will gain,¡± he said, tipping his head back to loose a smoke ring at the ceiling. ¡°The Ordfey is all part of the plan, can¡¯t you see that? It is exactly how the Crowns wish it to be.¡±


    ¡°They say otherwise.¡±


    ¡°Their deeds speak louder than their mouths,¡± Vedaun replied.


    ¡°Are you saying the Crowns are liars, brother?¡± Iaka asked.


    ¡°Why shouldn¡¯t I? According to themselves they are not God, or gods.¡± He sipped his pipe again. ¡°They are, in Mother¡¯s own words, just four jumped-up mortals with grand ideas, and all of a mortal¡¯s flaws. Even if they are not lying to us, they can still lie to themselves.¡±


    ¡°Hardly a loyal sentiment,¡± Chathamurgah noted.


    ¡°Mother did not create us to be loyal.¡± Vedaun shrugged. ¡°Sometimes, I think she only created us because the other three had Heralds, so she was damn well going to have some too.¡±


    ¡°If only I could disagree¡­¡± Iaka commented sourly.


    ¡°Anyway. The way to find the truth of a person, even a Crown, if you cannot trust their word, is in watching what they do and what they permit to be done around them. It doesn¡¯t matter that our creators verbally lament the Ordfey and its cruelties, if they sit back and allow it to go ahead. That¡¯s a tacit approval.¡±


    Murgah glanced at Iaka, who was fidgeting with the stem of her pipe and brushing imaginary flecks from it rather than smoking. Her expression was blank and guarded, but that in itself was a sign she was deeply troubled by her brother¡¯s words.


    For his own part, Chathamurgah was hearing what he had already believed for a long, long time.


    Vedaun saw it. ¡°So, cousin. If you think they¡¯re content with this, if you think they consider all that¡ª¡± he aimed a lazy hand skwards to wave it in the general direction of all elfkind and the entire Ordfey, ¡°¡ªis part of the plan, or exactly how the world they made should be¡­why even bother? Do you really thing we can combine our voices and change their course? You know how old they are, and how young we are next to them. Why should Mother listen to her children?¡±


    ¡°Perhaps she¡¯s testing us,¡± Chathamurgah replied. ¡°Perhaps the ¡®plan¡¯ is to see how long it takes for us Heralds to actually stand up and tell them it¡¯s wrong and has gone on long enough.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps. And if you¡¯re wrong?¡±


    ¡°Then we¡¯ll still have done the right thing.¡±


    Vedaun snorted a twin stream of smoke from his nose. ¡°The right thing,¡± he echoed, dully. ¡°Who are you to say what the right thing is?¡±


    ¡°Is he wrong?¡± Iaka asked.


    Vedaun just chuckled grimly. ¡°Rightness springs from power, and nothing more. Whether it¡¯s the power of Ordfey swords to cut down rebellious slaves, the power of Crowns to put us their creations back in our place, or the ineffable power higher even than King E?rrach¡­even he¡¯s just following orders. That¡¯s what rightness is, my dear kin. It¡¯s whatever the powerful decree. And any one of the Crowns is more powerful than the twelve Heralds combined.¡±


    He puffed up the pipe more to keep its bowl lit than to smoke it. ¡°No, your ¡®perhaps they¡¯re testing us¡¯ was the more persuasive argument.¡±


    ¡°And if nothing else, perhaps we can get them to admit you are right,¡± Iaka added.


    ¡°Heh! Dear sister, you know my mind almost too well.¡±


    ¡°So you¡¯ll join us?¡± Murgah asked.


    ¡°Cousin, I have been waiting for you to begin this thing for a long time. I will join you gladly.¡± Vedaun offered a rare smile.


    ¡°That leaves only Nimico, then,¡± Chathamurgah said.


    ¡°Oh, don¡¯t worry. She and I are of a mind: she¡¯ll need no persuading.¡±


    ¡°¡­If that¡¯s so, then we can begin planning the next step,¡± Murgah said.


    ¡°Which is?¡± Iaka asked.


    Chathamurgah sipped smoke, blew a ring, and explained the plan. And in the event, he was proven right.


    They didn¡¯t need much persuading at all.


    <hr>


    <h2>Interlude: Yngmir¡¯s Study</h2>


    The Thundering Hall 09.06.03.10.03


    ¡°You must understand, I didn¡¯t overhear these conversations at the time. They are¡­reconstructions. Pieced together by the subtle marks left in the world by weighty events, like a tracker might reconstruct his quarry¡¯s stride by their bootprints.¡±


    Haust sighed, leaned forward to rest her elbows on her knees, and looked down at the floor between her feet. ¡°We¡­make so many mistakes. This isn¡¯t even the hugest we¡¯ve made in our long spans, though¡­it¡¯s up there.¡±


    ¡°You believe creating him was a mistake?¡±


    ¡°No, of course not. What mother would say that of her best and brightest son?¡± Haust shook her head, and a complex expression that was both smile and bitter self-recrimination twisted across her face. ¡°My mistake was, I trusted that Murgah would reason his way to understanding and faith. I¡¯d forgotten about the trap.¡±


    Jerl frowned at her. ¡°¡­Trap?¡±


    ¡°Oh yes. An easy, easy trap. One I fell into myself, and slipped back into several times, and probably shall again, given enough time.¡± She rose to her feet and paced, describing the circumference of the circular rug that surrounded Yngmir¡¯s tree. ¡°There are many such traps, but the one I speak of lies in wait for the talented and clever. Indeed¡­it¡¯s part of the gift, in a sense. Or at least an inevitable, necessary consequence.¡±


    Jerl said nothing. He was becoming acutely aware that very, very few mortals reported having ever even knowingly spoken to Lady Haust, and the longest such conversation on record had lasted but a few minutes.


    In all the time the Worlds had stood, she had never shared so much of her thought with anyone, that he knew of. He was going to have to write this down, he knew it. In fact, he wished that he already had been.


    Haust either didn¡¯t hear his thought, or ignored it. She completed her circuit of the carpet and forced herself to sit again.


    ¡°The world is hideously complex, wouldn¡¯t you agree?¡±


    ¡°It¡­certainly seems to be,¡± Jerl ventured.


    She nodded. ¡°Everything, without limit, is complex and complicated beyong the scope of mortal knowledge. I mean that literally, it¡¯s impossible for a human brain to contain enough information. But when you first learn a thing, when you first start to get the hang of it¡­it doesn¡¯t feel so difficult, does it?¡±


    Jerl thought back on the various skills he¡¯d learned in his life. Knots, he remembered. After his father first purchased the Cavalier Queen, he¡¯d spent a week or so constantly practicing them with the help of the then rigging chief, and by the end of the week he¡¯d mastered the bowline, stopper, clove hitch, sheet bend, double half-hitch, rolling hitch and cleat hitch knots.


    Then, just as he¡¯d been feeling cocky and smart, he¡¯d been introduced to the other twenty-five.


    ¡°At first, yes,¡± he agreed.


    Some shadowy relative of a smile flitted across her lips. ¡°The very clever and astute suffer this problem quite intensely. Everything comes easily. The cleverer they are, the more they can learn without effort. For the sufficiently clever¡­by the time they are approaching the point of challenge, they may feel they have learned enough to be able to reason out the rest, so that their best move is to start studying something else, for a bigger picture. So their attention flutters away like a moth, and they¡¯re never humbled by the realization of how little they actually know. What happens to them then, do you think?¡±


    Jerl considered it. ¡°They¡­would go through life learning that the world is a simple place. Obvious. Easily understood.¡±


    ¡°Is it that?¡± Haust challenged him. ¡°Or is it something subtler?¡±


    Jerl blinked, frowned, then shook his head and shrugged.


    ¡°It¡¯s not that they think the world is simple, Jerl. It¡¯s that they think the truth is simple. Simple and obvious. To somebody in the trap, the truth becomes something that jumps out like a brilliant light in the dark, and you¡¯ll know it¡¯s true because it will immediately make perfect, effortless sense. The truth is a level paved road, easy to walk on. If you are confused, if you find your thoughts are difficult and uncomfortable, that¡¯s a sign you have plunged off the road of truth and into the thorny undergrowth of falsehood and misunderstanding.¡±


    She inhaled slowly, glanced up at Yngmir, then back down to Jerl. ¡°Do you think that¡¯s right?¡±


    Jerl thought about it for a moment. ¡°No¡­no. I think it¡¯s the other way around,¡± he ventured.


    ¡°I agree,¡± she said, softly. ¡°That¡¯s the trap. And the cleverer the one who¡¯s caught in it is, and the longer they remain in it, the tighter it closes.¡±


    ¡°¡­And Chathamurgah is very clever,¡± Jerl said.


    She nodded, though there was no pride in her expression. ¡°The cleverest. And he has been stuck in the trap since the First Day.¡± She rose to her feet again, as though sitting still was becoming painful. ¡°¡­And I didn¡¯t notice.¡±


    Slowly, she resumed her slow circle around the edge of the rug. This time, Jerl stood and walked with her.


    The story continued.


    <hr>


    <blockquote>


    ¡°The thing to remember is, our depravity was infectious. Humans of modern times like to imagine that our human population were perpetually cringing, traumatized things kept in line by terror the way one might bully a captive into submission. The truth is, the same darkness lurks in the human soul as in the elfish one. Gladiatorial bouts were enormously popular among the slaves. That began to change not long after Ekve¡¯s two hundredth jubilee celebrations¡­¡± ¡ªAmisten Henrutcof Llenava, Memories of the Deep Past.


    </blockquote>


    <h2>The City of Choirs</h2>


    Vathcanarthen, Prathardesh Earthmote Two hundredth year of the Ordfey


    Prince Sayf had once told the Heralds the story of a trickster who caused havoc at a wedding of gods by sending the gift of a divine golden apple, addressed vaguely to ¡®the most beautiful.¡¯ The result, according to the story, had been a vanity-fuelled dispute between three goddesses, culminating in a war whose legend had survived even through the death of the World Before and the birth of this one.


    The fable came to Chathamurgah¡¯s mind now because, for the first time since the First Day, he had the pleasure of seeing Rheannach and Nimico standing side-by-side, and the legend had resurfaced in his brain. Which of them was more beautiful?


    It ought to have been obvious. Rheannach was unquestionably a rare beauty by any mortal standard, but Nimico was a divine beauty, imbued with a grace and perfection of proportion and features far beyond what mortal flesh and blood could ever achieve or maintain. Her hair was golden, her lips full, her voice melodic, her figure so perfect that to glance at it felt like a crime¡­


    But there was a listlessness in her face and posture that abdicated it all. Her eyes, for instance, were red-rimmed with tired indifference and seemed half-realized, as though she¡¯d got as far as deciding she wanted intriguing irises the hue of rose gold, then got bored and never bothered with the pupils. The result was like being given a bored look by two unminted coins.


    And then there were her wings.


    All the Heralds had their wings, of course. It was one of the few things about their own bodies that remained stubbornly immutable and unchangeable. Rheannach had her beautiful iridescent magpie wings, Vedaun a pair of brilliant white pinions like a vast swan¡¯s, the Shishah¡¯s were blue and cream like a peackock¡¯s, and even Yngmir could unfurl a vast array of sky-blotting grey owl feathers.


    But Nimico¡¯s were the only ones that looked unkempt. They ought to have been elegant, being glossy black at the patagium shading to shimmering gold at the primaries. But instead, they were perpetually scruffy, and she was the only one of them who shed feathers, at a rate of one or two every few minutes. Her palace, a sullen spike on a peak within view of the Glacier Keep, was as adrift in them as a rookery.


    No, as unquestionably more lovely as Nimico should have been, she projected an air of terrible ennui that would always lose to Rheannach¡¯s serene good humor.


    Though, here and now, Rheannach¡¯s mood was not quite so sparkling.


    ¡°I really don¡¯t know about this¡­¡± she fretted.


    ¡°It¡¯s important, Rhee,¡± Iaka told her, encouragingly. ¡°You need to see this.¡±


    ¡°But I¡ª¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve heard the stories and the rumors, we know. But you need to see it,¡± Iaka pressed. ¡°Please.¡±


    This was a pivotal moment in Murgah¡¯s plan. Nimico had joined them at once, with a shrug as though it was the first interesting idea she¡¯d heard in far too long. He¡¯d rejected the idea of bringing Maicoh and Maingan on board as impossible, they were utterly loyal to King E?rrach. Faun and Satyr were too shallow, they¡¯d consider the whole affair boring and beneath them, and the Shishah, so far as he could tell, was a true believer. As were Yngmir and Dragon.


    But Rheannach was much too innocent. Even if she turned around and told her lord husband everything that transpired today, she was still about to have her eyes opened in a way that was long overdue. Whatever happened, they were doing her a kindness today.


    ¡°Disguises,¡± Vedaun grunted. As one, the gathered Heralds nodded and changed. Between one stride and the next, their customary forms rippled, shifted, and the room now contained five wealthy elven merchants.


    ¡°¡­That¡¯s not a fey hair color, Nim,¡± Iaka pointed out. Her sister made an exasperated sound, and her golden blonde tresses twisted sideways to a shade of sun-on-the-grass green unusual but not impossible for a G?lfey.


    ¡°Better?¡± She demanded.


    ¡°Thank you.¡±


    Iaka¡¯s ¡°slaves¡± were waiting for them with a collection of palanquins. Their use rankled for Chathamurgah, but he consoled himself with the knowledge that these were free humans who had volunteered to help Iaka keep up her charade of elfish nobility. Still, he reduced his own mass as he boarded the chair so as to make the journey easier for them, and watched through the gossamer curtains as they trotted out into the flow of people heading toward the arena.


    This whole cycle of thirty-two days was a festival marking the two hundredth year of Ekve¡¯s various reigns. The imperial coffers had been generously tapped to fill the city with every sign of celebration, from musicians and bunting to stalls offering enormous supplies of food, free to the consumer at the throne¡¯s expense. Even slaves were permitted to partake, in a rare gesture of magnanimity.


    But today was the climax, and the jewel of the celebration was a spectacle in the arena. It had been going on for the entire day, exploring through the full roster of entertainments. Early in the morning had been plays and performances, displays of exotic animals and talented acrobatics. There would have been poetry readings, reenactments of great battles, concerts and duels between talented and notorious gladiators, interspersed with a few choice executions.


    There was no shame in missing these aperitifs to savor the main course only. The Queen-Consort herself was taking to the sand¡ªnot in itself unusual, as Bekhil was an infamously enthusiastic gladiator¡ªbut the rumor almost certainly started by the palace itself was that this particular bout would be something particularly rare and special.


    So, a river of palanquins flowed into the arena, each a statement of its owner¡¯s social position, wealth, artistic taste and more. Murgah entertained himself with crowd-watching as the incognito Heralds were kept waiting in the long line, though he saw none who stood out to him. The humans were made uniform by the rules on how they were permitted to dress and present themselves: their short, tough, close-fitting tunics made concealing a weapon almost impossible, and could only be dyed according to the wearer¡¯s occupation and patterned according to the Set of their owner. Those tunics were as much a symbol of slavery as the leather collars.


    The elves were made uniform by their lavish attempts to stand out from one another. Each one was so decorated, so jeweled and powdered and festooned that they became a kind of moving blot. Simplicity was not in their thoughts: simplicity was a slave¡¯s condition. And so each one was so much a riot of silks, stones and extravagant hair that their silhouette became broken and unclear and their clothes dazzled until the eye skipped over them.


    Either way, Murgah could find nobody in the crowd who particularly caught his attention. It was a relief when their chairs were waved through and carried all the way through the arena¡¯s wide halls to the private box Iaka had arranged for them.


    The interior was noticeably cooler than the heat outside, thanks to cunning architecture and the large wetted drapes hanging from the high ceiling. The light was pleasantly dim too, in part due to an ornately intricate screen of woven reeds. From the outside, it would be impossible to see in: from the inside, the view of the action was mostly unimpeded. And if one bored of the spectacle the walls were sumptuously painted, and the room was decorated with potted plants, thick soft cushions, sweet incense burners and flower arrangements, not to mention the exquisite food on equally exquisite lacquerware.


    Rheannach looked around in vague surprise. ¡°It¡¯s so private!¡±


    ¡°That was the idea, cousin,¡± Vedaun told her.


    ¡°But¡­won¡¯t that be suspicious? Won¡¯t people wonder why we¡¯re hiding away in here out of view?¡±


    Nimico laughed. ¡°Why would they? Look, there are dozens of these boxes out there. See?¡± She pointed them out, and Rheannach relaxed.


    ¡°Oh. Yes. Okay. Good,¡± she nodded.


    Nimico¡¯s smile turned mischievous. ¡°Besides, they¡¯ll just assume we¡¯re having an orgy.¡±


    ¡°¡­Oh.¡±


    And that¡¯s exactly what they¡¯ll see if they spy on us, too, Murgah thought, privately. There was a tight crawlspace behind the back wall, into which a slim body could wriggle to peep and eavesdrop through the gaps. It was presently empty, but that might well change. Ekve¡¯s court survived, he knew, because the emperor had eyes and ears everywhere, always alert for plotting would-be usurpers. But a spy who eavesdropped on the heralds would witness only five Fey revelling in, by the empire¡¯s standards, quite a tame fashion.


    He let Nimico continue to tease and embarrass Rheannach and took his seat near the screen window. Right now, the spectacle out on the sand was a military parade, regiments of human janissaries marching stoically behind their resplendent fey commanders. The parade was so long that it snaked out the main gate, looped completely around the arena¡¯s edge, and then back out the gate again. The marching feet and music were impressively synchronized considering the time it took sound to carry from one side of the amphitheatre to the other.


    Even as he watched, the last of the marching units entered and began its circuit of the sand. They had arrived at just the right time. Excellent.


    The others settled in on their lounging couches as the procession completed its orbit and exeunt. There was a brief, expectant lull, in which a sense of energy mounted. Even the food servers in the cheap seats paused in hawking their wares to turn expectantly toward the grand central gate.


    They didn¡¯t have to wait long. As the last of the soldiers exited, trumpeters emerged to the sound of wild cheering, raised their instruments, and blew a stirring fanfare. The central gate opened, and a new procession began.


    The figure at its head was met with a deafening roar of approval, which condensed into song, taken up by twenty thousand throats.


    Ay¨¦! Sii ol Bekhil, ay¨¦! Ay¨¦! Bomirdd! Bomirdd! Bomirdd! Ay¨¦! Canarthakun kuuha olfey! Caernvirdh! Caernvirdh! Bomirdd!


    The simple chant repeated over and over as Bekhil raised her weapons high above her head and saluted the crowd. She was Taranfey in this life, her skin as grey as wood ash and her hair as dark as the bottom of a thundercloud, but even from this far away they could see the excited opalescent flash of her eyes, wild and manic.


    The crowd¡¯s energy was equally manic, their song loud enough to shake the stones. Bekhil strode confidently to the very middle of the arena and turned, her arms spread high and wide to acknowledge their adoration and let them see her.


    Then she strode forward across the sands, and a two columns of other gladiators trailed after her. All were resplendent in the finest, shiniest gear, but none were a match for Bomirdd, who was clad in an iridescent armor of the style known to the elves as *Carchaid¡ª¡±*Crabshell.¡± Its intricately cut and layered plates fitted her form like a second skin, sliding over one another where she was flexible, rigidly protecting her where she was not. Its pearlescent surface shimmered in the sun as the procession reached the center and formed a circle. At first, the gladiators turned outwards and raised their weapons toward the crowd in salute. Then they turned inwards and saluted the Consort.


    And, finally, they faced the royal box above the entrance, and saluted the distant figure of Ekve.


    Murgah watched the emperor give Bekhil an imperious nod, and felt rather than saw the swell of excitement in the blood-crazed consort¡¯s heart.


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    She turned, and tapped a tiny portion of an elf¡¯s innate magic to raise her voice to a thunderous volume that rang as clearly around the arena as the trumpets had a moment ago.


    ¡°Beloved fey! Honored guests! You who have come to celebrate our beloved liege lord! Welcome!¡± she cried.


    The cheering went on for a minute more. She soaked it up, then raised a hand for quiet.


    ¡°As a token of his love for you, my love the Emperor has decreed a special spectacle for today! Today, by his most generous command, for the first time I will perform for you the Blood Spiral!¡±


    Rheannach leaned over as the crowd sighed then burst into ecstatic cheering and singing. ¡°The¡­Blood Spiral?¡± she asked. ¡°What¡¯s that?¡±


    ¡°Suicide,¡± Chathamurgah grunted.


    ¡°¡­What?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a gauntlet,¡± Nimico explained. ¡°Basically, she¡¯s just told the crowd that she won¡¯t leave this arena alive. She¡¯s going to fight, and fight, and fight until somebody finally kills her.¡±


    Rheannach¡¯s eyes widened, and she stared out at Bekhil again. The others traded a knowing look. This was what this whole visit was for, today: Rheannach needed an object lesson in just how utterly depraved the elves had become. And there were none, frankly, as thoroughly depraved as Bekhil.


    ¡°But she¡¯s¡­she¡¯s¡­¡± Rheannach stammered.


    ¡°Excited?¡± Vedaun offered tactfully, before Nimico could offer a more colorfully accurate word. Rheannach nodded mutely. She looked like she was about to throw up even though Heralds, being granted superhuman control over their bodies, did not vomit involuntarily.


    ¡°They all are. The elves have seen too much, done too much, tested every boundary and broken every taboo. Death is the only one left to them that still has some real impact,¡± Vedaun opined, and rose from his seat to retrieve a cup of wine. ¡°And even then, to them it¡¯s like¡­hmm¡­like selling the estate they presently live on and buying another. Doing this is no great hardship to Bekhil, and lets them indulge their fetish for slaughter¡­and their exhibitionism.¡±


    Outside, another fanfare began. The other gladiators who had accompanied Bekhil into the arena¡ªtwo ranks of sixty-four, a hundred and twenty-eight total¡ªbacked off to form a ring around the outside.


    ¡°It¡¯s all scripted, of course,¡± Vedaun continued. ¡°If they wanted to they could rush her, and not even the Laughing Death could prevail against so many attacking at once. So they¡¯ll begin with a grand melee where most of them ignore her and with strictly memorized rules of who is allowed to kill whom, until they are down to, oh, a dozen or so. The ones left by that point will have had some dramatic successes to make them seem especially skilled and worthy¡­and to make Bekhil look even better when she kills them.¡±


    Rheannach shot the waiting duellists a profoundly disturbed look. ¡°It¡¯s so¡­wasteful¡­¡± she ventured.


    ¡°To us, yes. But the point is to make Ekve seem especially glorious, and anything which makes the consort seem powerful and deadly improves him by association. That¡¯s worth spending a couple hundred elvish chal on.¡±


    ¡°But¡­life is a gift! It¡¯s¡ª!¡±


    Nimico sighed. ¡°Rhee¡­you knew this was happening. It¡¯s been happening for hundreds of years. You can¡¯t pretend you didn¡¯t know about it.¡±


    ¡°Well¡­I mean¡­¡± Rheannach flinched as the trumpets blew outside and the crowd¡¯s roar turned into a frenzied clamor for blood.


    Sure enough, it was flying through the air in seconds, along with assorted severed body parts. Some portion of the fights out there were genuine clashes between two combatants doing their level best to kill one another, and those were over quickly. Indeed, most of these were Bekhil, flashing hither and yon through the melee while her sword flashed and sparked in the sunlight, lopping off a head here, opening an artery there¡­


    The ones she didn¡¯t touch were choreographed and lasted longer, allowing the participants to showcase their dazzling gymnastic proficiency. And as much as he despised this entire affair, Murgah had to give them credit: the skill on display was truly exceptional. How long had they rehearsed for this? Knowing they were all carefully practicing the moment of their chal¡¯s end¡­


    He joined Vedaun in grabbing a cup of wine and left Rheannach to watch and fidget in mounting dismay and distress.


    Iaka came up behind him as he poured. ¡°This is cruel,¡± she whispered, so conspiratorially that even if Rhee hadn¡¯t been so distracted, she couldn¡¯t have listened in.


    ¡°We agreed to it,¡± Chathamurgah pointed out.


    ¡°We voted on it, and the three of you outvoted me,¡± Iaka replied, and plucked the decanter from his hands. ¡°I still don¡¯t see why we have to destroy her innocence like this.¡±


    ¡°There are times, dear cousin, when your sense of compassion goes too far.¡±


    ¡°I would say the same about your sense of equity.¡± She poured her wine and gave Rheannach a terribly sorry look. ¡°Innocence is a beautiful thing, Murgah. It¡¯s rare enough among mortals, the fact she¡¯s remained so wide-eyed and pure these thousands of years is¡­it¡¯s a miracle. Something terrible will come from doing this to her, I¡¯m sure of it.¡±


    ¡°I must disagree. There¡¯s nothing beautiful about letting her enjoy the luxury of ignorance while the slaves suffer.¡±


    Iaka sighed and moved away. She took the wine with her, he noted. When he glanced at Vedaun, the snow-skinned herald shrugged as if he didn¡¯t particularly have strong feelings either way, and popped a honey meringue topped with salmon roe into his mouth.


    As for Nimico¡­well, she was busy driving the point home to Rhee with what seemed almost like wicked relish.


    ¡°Oh, this looks like it¡¯s going to be good. See? Bekhil and Darada there have been sort of circling together and¡­there we go!¡±


    Rheannach¡¯s knuckles were white on her chair. Indeed, she¡¯d crushed the wood down to a handful of compacted splinters. And the look she gave Nimico was thoroughly appalled¡­but she watched. Chathamurgah wandered closer to see what the fuss was about.


    Sure enough, Bekhil and another gladiator, an Ithfey man with a flowing mane of silver hair, had clashed and were trading sword-strokes with a rapidity and precision that beggared belief. Even to Murgah¡¯s eyes, the rehearsed narrative of their duel was so carefully planned as to be invisible: it truly did look for all the world as though Bekhil survived his onslaught by the very narrowest of margins, taking a scratch on her throat as she twirled around a savage thrust.


    She buried a needle-thin stabbing dagger in his eye in retaliation, and was then immediately on the defensive as a second gladiator swept in to very nearly run her through from behind.


    So it went. There were enough combatants still on the sand that the piecemeal, one-by-one attacks on Bekhil could be justified as the others not wanting to let their guards down. But no sooner had the Laughing Death dispatched one foe than another emerged from the melee to challenge her.


    The crowd loved it. Their song was in full voice now, loud enough to rattle the furniture and screen windows, and yet somehow above the din he could hear the joyous laughter for which Bomirdd was named.


    The rehearsed carnage continued for ten non-stop minutes, until at last there were only two left standing on the field: Bekhil and another equally infamous gladiator called Anoris, who had enjoyed a number of glorious moments and stunning battles herself in the long battle to this duel. Now, there was a well-judged lull in the action as the two circled each other, trading amplified compliments, with just a hint of lighthearted taunting. The moment waited, stretched, grew tense until the crowd was utterly silent and alert¡ª


    Their clash was like two thunderstorms meeting out in the cloud sea, as abrupt as lightning and just as impressive. Their wychwethels wailed and sang, shrieked as they met and bounced back, rang and glimmered. Bekhil¡¯s armor stopped a stroke across the breast, Anori rolled under a slash that neatly snipped the high ponytail from her crown and left her fighting from under a shaggy, loose bob.


    They seemed evenly matched. Indeed, even Chathamurgah started to wonder if this was not, in fact, actually a real battle between them and they were just that good¡­


    Until the moment that Bekhil¡¯s sword was torn from her grasp. It spun and bowled away across the sand, Anoris darted in and slashed, and Bekhil twirled away in one direction, away from the killing stroke.


    Her armor, its straps severed by Anoris¡¯ sword, twirled away in the other direction and fell off her body entirely, leaving her completely naked before the delighted crowd.


    Nimico actually laughed. ¡°Oh, that was excellent!¡± She declared, earning four looks of deep disapproval from the other Heralds. ¡°Oh, come on! Armor doesn¡¯t fail like that. They must have practiced that for years to get it looking so good!¡±


    Chathamurgah did have to concede that point. Carchaid was held in place by dozens of straps, many of them doubled up. For the entire suit to just fall off like that from one or even six of its straps being cut was pure costume armory¡­and the dexterity to cut the straps so precisely was pure stunt choreography.


    All to titillate the crowd and indulge Ekve¡¯s exhibitionist lusts. Grotesque. How much good could they have done if they devoted such obsessive focus to better ends?


    He did not guard that thought. Instead, he turned it on Rheannach and twisted it like a knife in the gut.


    It had the desired effect. Rheannach rose so abruptly that she unconsciously obliterated her chair by knocking it hard into the wall. Gone was her wide open naivet¨¦. Instead, she shot the four conspirators a terrible glare with red-rimmed eyes, wrenched a panel of the screen window out of its frame, transformed into a magpie and was gone in a frantic flapping of wings. No elf in the arena noted her departure: they were all too busy howling with delight as Bekhil wrapped her legs around Anoris¡¯ neck and crushed the life out of her foe with her thighs.


    Now the real gauntlet began, and the first wave of hapless human slaves was thrust into the arena with spears and hatchets in hand, to fight desperately against a far superior foe until sheer numbers brought her down. Chathamurgah didn¡¯t care to watch such senseless butchery: he turned to the others and spoke softly.


    ¡°Well, it¡¯s done.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re committed,¡± Vedaun agreed.


    ¡°King E?rrach won¡¯t be happy we broke his wife,¡± Nimico commented with, once again, a discomforting degree of satisfaction as though this was the most entertaining thing she¡¯d seen in years.


    ¡°Good.¡± Chathamurgah replied. ¡°He made this world. It¡¯s time for him to either step in and fix it, or acknowledge that it is exactly how he wants it.¡±


    <hr>


    <h2>Interlude: Yngmir¡¯s Study</h2>


    The Thundering Hall 09.06.03.10.03


    ¡°I¡¯ve met Rheannach. It¡¯s hard to picture her being so¡­childlike.¡±


    ¡°Everyone is, at first. Even Crowns.¡± Haust smiled and gestured. A vision shimmered into view behind her, like looking through a slightly frosted window that had opened suddenly in the air itself. Jerl blinked at what he saw: a white room, all rounded corners and bright lights, its huge window overlooking what could only be a city¡­though unlike any he had seen before. Its spires were immense, thousands of times taller than the highest steeples and ziggurats ever built in the Nested Worlds. Beyond them, a glass wall stretched high overhead in a vast dome¡­and beyond that was only darkness, and a terrible sea of red fire.


    But the focus of this vision was a tiny ginger-haired girl, kneeling on the cushioned windowsill and looking out over the conflagration with her father¡¯s arm around her shoulder, listening as he explained the facts about their world.


    ¡°I was, in most respects, a very normal little girl. I had a favorite doll, a favorite character in my favorite story, and I used to love riding my bicycle in the park.¡±


    Jerl chuckled, struck by the sight even if there were features of it he couldn¡¯t make sense of. ¡°¡­You were a cute child.¡±


    ¡°I was the last child.¡±


    When Jerl frowned at her, she elaborated. ¡°When I was born, it was quite a scandal. You see, this new world we live in now has but one sun, and it¡¯s sort of a miracle: an eternal fire that makes its own fuel from nothing. The World Before had hundreds of billions of trillions of them, but they were more like campfires, burning fuel that had long since been felled and there would never be more: once it was gone, it was gone. So one by one, they burned out and went dark.¡±


    She tilted her head at the vision of herself, and the view pulled back sharply, as though Jerl had been grabbed by the scruff of his neck and pulled away with inhuman strength. The walls slid past, they shot through the solid dome, and then Jerl was looking down on this strange floating city, basking in the energies of a dim, baleful red sea of flame.


    ¡°The smallest, coolest and dimmest lasted an incredibly long time, ten trillion years or more,¡± Haust continued. ¡°But even they would fade¡­and then it all would be dark and cold, forever afterwards. No more fire, no more warmth, no more life. That was how the World Before died, and it was how I lived: in this flying city, huddled close to one of the last few sparks of light in a dark universe, with only a few million years left to go.¡±


    She chuckled softly at his astonished blink. ¡°A million years was no time at all next to such immensely long-lived suns, nor next to how long most people had lived. As far as everyone else was concerned, my parents had been terribly cruel to bring me into the world so soon before it faded away. No child had been born for hundreds of millions of years before me. And none would be born after. I was the very last, and the very youngest.¡±


    She sighed and dismissed the vision. ¡°Compared to E?rrach and Talvi, I still am a baby. Next even to me, our Heralds are still very young and naive. And Rheannach¡¯s innocence in particular was long-lived by her own choice. She was very happy with King E?rrach, you see. Completely in love with him, and the thought never crossed her mind that there was anything to criticize in him. She never went looking. So she never found.¡±


    ¡°Until Chathamurgah and the others finally showed her.¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°So what did she do afterwards?¡± Jerl asked.


    ¡°What else? She flew back home and demanded her husband give her a satisfactory answer for what she¡¯d seen and what the others had said.¡±


    ¡°¡­And what did he do?¡± Jerl asked.


    Haust chuckled softly, and looked up at the ceiling and off into infinity.


    ¡°He gave her a satisfactory answer,¡± she said.


    <hr>


    <blockquote>


    ¡°The jubilee celebrations were one of the bloodiest days in the empire¡¯s history, of course. I was one of¡­oh¡­I daresay thousands of gladiators whose job was to die on the great feast day. I remember, not long after Bekhil cut me down, as I was lying there bleeding out and watching the exquisite show she put on slaughtering the slaves, it started to rain heavily. Ekve was furious, of course. He¡¯d been assured of a hot, dry, clear day for this spectacle of spectacles. I gather he put all his weather forecasters to death in inventive ways, afterwards. For my part, I thought the storm made the rest of the fighting particularly dramatic.¡± ¡ªAmisten Henrutcof Llenava, Memories of the Deep Past.


    </blockquote>


    <h2>King E?rrach¡¯s Cabin</h2>


    A hidden earthmote Two hundredth year of the Ordfey


    Turmoil. It followed her as she flew home, racing along behind her and leaving the sky to crackle and surge. It raged inside her head and left no room for coherent thought. she just was, for the moment, lost in her pain and sickness and confusion and anger and disgust¡­


    So many emotions she¡¯d felt only the lightest brush of before, and now they whirled in her mind like a hurricane. And somewhere in the eye of the storm, a terrible fear was crystallizing.


    Home came up to meet her before she was ready. She angled in to the lake shore, not ready to see him just yet, not until she¡¯d thought, figured her head out, done¡­done something. Instead, she slammed into the beach with a thunderous impact that left a crater as wide as her wingspan.


    That was cathartic at least. A little. The blow seemed to let some of the turmoil out, so fuck it. She stooped, tore a rock from the ground and pitched it into the lake with all the force she could muster. It shattered in her hand, and supersonic fragments slammed into the water with a cracking boom that launched a brief localized rain shower into the air.


    Good. She stooped to grab another one¡­then stopped. In an instant, all her feelings froze solid.


    Fish were bobbing to the surface, dead or stunned from the explosion. One of them was familiar, a monster of a trout she must have seen a hundred times when it flung itself into the air to snatch at insects, or her husband¡¯s fishing flies. She¡¯d sometimes thought about giving it a name.


    And now, she¡¯d killed it, unthinkingly.


    She dropped the rock, and waded out to it, hoping perhaps it was just stunned and would flash under again after a few seconds but¡­no. No, there was an aura to living creatures, a sense of there being something more to them than just meat and bone, and it was absent around this one.


    She scooped it up and held it.


    ¡°¡­I¡¯m sorry.¡±


    The fish, of course, just lay in her hands completely glassy-eyed and still. Around her, one or two of the stunned ones did revive and submerge again, but all told there were half a dozen her thoughtlessness had just¡­ended.


    A vision shot through her of the elves in the arena howling with lust and joy, and she shivered. She¡¯d been rapt with horror at their thoughts, the way eroticism and slaughter mingled grotesquely in them as they watched death being dealt. The gladiators in particular had been crazed with it, so utterly enraptured by the thought of it that they welcomed both killing and being killed as though it was beautiful.


    And none more so than Bekhil. The feeling shining brightly from that one had been that for the first time in far too long, she felt alive. As if every other day of her chal and many chal before it had been dreary and suffocating except for those few bright moments when she got to flirt with the threshold of limbo¡­or, as today, dive gleefully through into the temporary oblivion beyond.


    It was sick. Life was a gift. Existence was a gift. And yet, the Ordfey seemed to worship its opposite, as though nothing in all the worlds was more desirable than to not be. Many of those elves had been watching the condemned human slaves with a sensation of¡­of envy.


    And now, here she was, dealing out death and destruction in a fit of pique. It didn¡¯t matter that she¡¯d not intended it, this blameless creature was dead by her hand.


    She waded back toward shore until the water was only calf-deep, then sat down and waited. Around her, the rain continued pummelling down from a leaden sky of her own making, so hard that it thrashed the water opaque.


    Sure enough, E?rrach joined her before long. He¡¯d been in the potting shed, she could tell. His hands were stained black, and he smelled of compost and sap.


    Just then, though, his hands may as well have been crimson, and the scent might have been the tang of blood and sweat that she still fancied she could taste, bitter in the back of her throat.


    He sat down next to her, and waited for her to speak first.


    ¡°¡­What am I, to you?¡± she asked, eventually.


    ¡°You¡¯re the one I love,¡± he replied.


    She still didn¡¯t look at him. ¡°¡­What does that mean?¡± she asked. ¡°You made me. You made me to love me. And you made me to love you.¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°What does that mean?¡± she repeated.


    It was his turn to remain silent for a while, until he scooted over an inch and put his hand on her back, gently.


    ¡°¡­What happened?¡± he asked.


    ¡°You don¡¯t know?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t spy on you, beloved.¡±


    ¡°Do you spy on any of us?¡±


    He frowned. ¡°No.¡±


    ¡°You should have been. You¡¯d have seen this coming.¡±


    E?rrach watched her solemnly for a moment, then looked down at the fish. ¡°Where were you?¡±


    ¡°Vathcanarthen. Chathamurgah, Iaka, Vedaun and Nimico took me to the jubilee celebrations in¡­in the arena.¡±


    ¡°Oh.¡±


    ¡°Pan¡­it was evil.¡±


    He sighed. ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°And you¡¯re just letting it happen!¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    She stared at him, wondering now if she¡¯d ever actually looked at him before. Suddenly, without changing in any way, his face seemed to have become much less pleasing to her eye. Was his expression calm and wise, or indifferent and callous? The pelting rain running off his face made it seem graven from stone.


    ¡°¡­How can you?¡± she asked.


    He was silent for so long that she began to wonder if he was going to answer at all. Finally, he spoke in a soft rumble, quiet and terribly sad.


    ¡°I can give an answer. I can promise it will be true, but I can¡¯t promise it will be complete, or to your liking.¡±


    Had he used any other tone of voice, those words would have been too cold for her. Too calm, too restrained, too dispassionate. Part of her still thought so and wanted to be angry at him, but there was a deep sorrow in his voice that stopped her anger with a gentle touch.


    She sighed. ¡°¡­Just say it.¡±


    ¡°What am I, Rhee? Answer carefully, this is more important than you think.¡±


    She groaned, and lightning struck the mountaintop with a boom. She didn¡¯t care, she didn¡¯t want to rein in her emotions right now. ¡°Oh, Pan¡­ Not another damned set of questions, please. Can¡¯t you just tell me what you think? Why does it always have to be like this, with the leading questions and the gentle, teacherly approach? Why do you always have to treat me like a disciple, instead of your wife? Just once, just for fucking once, treat me like we¡¯re even a little bit equal!¡±


    He paused, then looked down at his knees and chuckled softly. ¡°God, I love you. You¡¯re right. I¡¯m sorry. I¡¯ve grown so used to being careful and indirect¡­and that¡¯s the root of this, of course.¡±


    He turned his face upwards and stared unblinking into the rain. ¡°I am not God, merely His instrument. I am among His mightiest instruments anywhere in any reality, but merely an instrument nonetheless. What power I have to create is entrusted to me. As is the care of his children. And that means¡ª¡°


    ¡°This is caring for them, is it?¡± Rheannach interjected, bitterly. ¡°Letting them do whatever they like, with no consequences? No guidance? You¡¯ve never even told them that what they¡¯re doing is wrong!¡±


    He looked at her, intense now. ¡°They know what they¡¯re doing is wrong. They know it in their souls. Indeed, that¡¯s exactly why they¡¯re doing it, because there¡¯s an intoxicating thrill to wickedness. And there is a consequence for them, beloved. They¡¯re miserable, self-hating, nihilistic. The reason they¡¯re so obsessed with death is because they haven¡¯t figured out how to live yet.¡±


    ¡°But that just makes your inaction worse! You could show them the way out! You could¡ª¡±


    ¡°No. I can¡¯t. That¡¯s the problem.¡± With a sigh, he reached over and took the fish out of her hands. ¡°I can¡¯t show them anything. The moment I do, it¡¯s over. The seed would be scorched.¡±


    ¡°The seed of what, though?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s where the answer is incomplete.¡±


    ¡°How do you know it¡¯s anything at all?¡±


    ¡°Because I¡¯ve seen it before. The World Before was just this cruel, once. Crueller, even. There were dark times through its long history, far darker than the Ordfey is capable of. Indeed, there will be dark ages throughout the future of this creation, the likes of which will make this current tragedy seem quaint and petty. But out of all that suffering comes something otherwise impossible¡ªfree, good beings. Beings free to be good instead of enslaved to the will of a greater power. Out of that came us,¡± he said, thumping his chest. ¡°Even as incomplete and imperfect as we are. The freedom to be magnificent and good and even holy is too precious to endanger.¡±


    Rheannach didn¡¯t answer. she looked back out into the lake again, trying to picture that, and felt oddly glad that she couldn¡¯t.


    ¡°Vedaun thinks this is all part of the plan,¡± she said, after a moment. ¡°That you¡¯re entirely okay with what¡¯s happening. That you approve.¡±


    ¡°A man has chronic pain in his ankle. A surgeon tells him ¡®I can have that foot off in less than a minute, and most of my patients survive!¡¯ The man refuses the amputation. Does that mean he loves the pain?¡± He shrugged. ¡°No. No, I don¡¯t approve. And I do wish the plan didn¡¯t require me to stand aside. I¡¯d free all those slaves and bring all the elves to their senses in an instant, if doing so wouldn¡¯t harm everyone even more in the long run.¡±


    ¡°Pan¡­the slaves are dead. They suffer and they die. There¡¯s no better future waiting for them.¡¯¡±


    ¡°Do not be so certain,¡± he warned. ¡°There are a great many things yet to be discovered in this world. Do you think I restrain myself out of some twisted dark pleasure? No. I suffer all their deaths, my love. Every one of them. It is only¡­¡± high touched his thick fingers to his breast and sighed. ¡°it is faith that keeps me strong.¡±


    ¡°Faith in what?!¡±


    ¡°A great many things, some too great to talk about right now¡­but among them is faith in you, my dear children. I know what greatness lies within you all, because I was privileged to help put it there. I know too, how much it will cost for you to find it. I can only ask you believe me when I say it will be worth it, and that the cost of my direct intervention would be far too dear to pay.¡±


    He paused, then sighed at himself. ¡°¡­But look at me. I slipped back into teacher mode.¡±


    The rain wasn¡¯t so heavy now. Rheannach mopped her sodden hair out of her eyes. ¡°You did with the amputation thing, but¡­go on.¡±


    He made a self-effacing grunt. ¡°A herald stands on a mountaintop, and sees a mudslide has just started and is sweeping down the hillside. She has the power to adjust its course, and sees that if she sends it one way it will flatten a town of thousands, and if she sends it the other way it will wipe out a small family farm. Which way should she send it?¡±


    ¡°Well¡­if she can¡¯t stop it entirely¡­the farm.¡±


    ¡°Does it make any difference that the small farm is close and the town is far?¡±


    ¡°No.¡±


    ¡°No. It¡¯s an easy one to think about in the abstract, isn¡¯t it?¡± E?rrach sighed. ¡°But now let¡¯s talk about the real conundrum. If I were to descend in power and majesty to fix all these problems of mortal origin, what then? Would they be free to be?¡±


    Rheannach sighed and stood up. ¡°I know you believe they wouldn¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve seen it, Rhee. I¡¯ve seen it so many times. When parents prevent their children from ever making mistakes, when the old shelter the young, when the Sufficiently Advanced take over from the Undeveloped¡­at every level, the impulse to prevent the lesser evil causes a much greater one. In this case¡­If you aren¡¯t free to do the wrong thing, then you aren¡¯t free.¡±


    Rheannach frowned at the ripples in the water. ¡°The other four think freedom is just an excuse to justify inequity and harm.¡±


    ¡°They do?¡±


    ¡°Well¡­Chathamurgah and Iaka do, anyway. Vedaun and Nimico I think believe it means anything goes.¡±


    E?rrach sighed. ¡°¡­Come on. Let¡¯s eat this fish.¡±


    ¡°You could breathe life back into it,¡± Rheannach pointed out, hopefully.


    ¡°Or we could have a nice fish dinner. I was planning on eating this guy sometime soon anyway.¡±


    There were several layers of subtext that he didn¡¯t speak aloud but which rang as loud as bells in the psychic layer of their conversation. Death was a normal part of life; pretending as though her mistake had never happened wouldn¡¯t help anything; they needed to do something mundane together.


    She sighed, and stood up. ¡°¡­No. No, I¡¯m sorry. I love you, Pan, but this whole thing¡­it¡¯s shaken me, and I need to think and make up my own mind. You¡¯re so¡­you¡¯re too perfect at times like these.¡±


    He paused for a long time, and there was a tremor in the ground that never quite made it onto his face. Finally, though, he closed his eyes and nodded slowly.


    ¡°Alright.¡± He said softly, almost as though he was afraid of something. ¡°I love you too.¡±


    She managed a tiny, tight smile, then spread her wings and took flight again. She wasn¡¯t sure where she was going, beyond that she definitely wasn¡¯t going back to Chathamurgah and the others. She wanted to do something, something good, something¡­something that shone a little light into the darkness she¡¯d been shown.


    The turmoil slowed, and ceased. In its place was a sudden sense of purpose, and a plan. There was something she could do. Something that would harm nobody, take away nobody¡¯s freedom to choose or make mistakes, but still show that she, at least, disapproved of the Ordfey and its ways.


    The skies became blue, and she flew on with a head full of clearer thoughts.


    It was time to help the slaves help themselves.


    <hr>


    <h2>Interlude: Yngmir¡¯s Study</h2>


    The Thundering Hall 09.06.03.10.03


    Jerl nodded. ¡°And that¡¯s when she became Raksuul.¡±


    Lady Haust shrugged. ¡°Well, that was a longer process than just one conversation. It took her nearly a hundred years to really establish the underground slave movements, sixty more before she could reveal what she was to the slaves she helped liberate and taught them the secret ways to her havens, and another hundred more after that before she finally forged Scorn and revealed her open support for their emancipation. The Ordfey still clung on for another eight hundred years after that point, but¡­¡± she smiled up at Yngmir, then lowered her voice.


    ¡°Truth be told, she impressed us. She took a day that could have ruined her, and let it transform her instead. She went from King E?rrach¡¯s beautiful, doting, naive, innocent wife to being¡­¡±


    ¡°More complex than that,¡± Jerl suggested.


    ¡°She travelled the world, Jerl. You know what that does to a person. Seeing how people live, encountering different ways of being, having your mind expanded. Rheannach was the first Herald to explore the Worlds in the spirit of really experiencing it. She was the one who inspired Yngmir to build this hall, and Dragon to take her first husband. She forged a legend that was all her own¡­though it cost her. I don¡¯t think she¡¯ll ever be so innocently in love ever again.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s no bad thing,¡± Jerl opined.


    ¡°Exactly right. I think what they have is healthier, now. So in the end, Chathamurgah¡¯s plans for her backfired completely. When we took a closer look at them, we found what he was planning¡­it was terrible.¡±


    ¡°Terrible how?¡±


    ¡°Their intent was a world fully in line with their personal values. You¡¯ve heard enough about them now to know what those are.¡±


    ¡°Is a world without inequality so bad?¡± Jerl asked.


    ¡°Hmm. E?rrach would say something about how we¡¯re all ultimately equal before God, in the grand scheme of things.¡±


    ¡°And what would you say?¡±


    ¡°That Inequality is the shadow without which the light is meaningless. It¡¯s the down that defines up. A world without inequality would be a world where love cannot exist, because how could you ever love everyone fairly and equally? Love is devotion, a focused giving of your energies to a few in preference over the many.¡±


    ¡°Huh.¡±


    ¡°But mostly? Inequality is necessary. Not in the sense that we have to put up with it because it¡¯s not going away, but in the sense that how could you ever cook a meal if the hearth wasn¡¯t hotter than the room? Chathamurgah, though¡­he maybe wasn¡¯t so far gone in the time I just told you about, but now¡­¡±


    ¡°What happened to him?¡±


    ¡°We confronted him, and the other three. And for the sake of our creation, we had to act.¡± Haust sighed, and fidgeted with an invisible speck on the end of her thumbnail. ¡°¡­That was a bad day.¡±


    Jerl frowned at her. ¡°What did you do? They¡¯re still around, aren¡¯t they?¡±


    There was a long silence, so utterly quiet that Jerl could hear the soft rush and drum of rain on the gabled roof far above him.


    Finally, she spoke again.


    ¡°Yes¡­and no.¡±


    <hr>


    <blockquote>


    ¡°I would like to see the Firstmote again. It was a beautiful place to awaken, though I did not know it at the time. But my first experience was a lightly scented breeze, and the soft rustle of it through vine leaves and tree branches, and the tinkle of water on stone. I awoke to the feeling of sun-warmed marble under my bare feet, perfectly laid. There were columns and colonnades, fountains and standing stones. And in the center, a sculpture of something I have never made sense of. Yes, I should dearly like to go back and study that sculpture. I feel that if I understood what it depicted, I would know much more of the world.¡± ¡ªAmisten Henrutcof Llenava, Memories of the Deep Past.


    </blockquote>


    <h2>The Firstmote</h2>


    Somewhere in the endless sky Two hundredth year of the Ordfey


    There were no chains. Not even metaphorical ones. Somehow, it would have seemed more honest to Chathamurgah if there had been. Was he not a condemned man on his way to his sentence?


    Perhaps. But that wasn¡¯t how the Crowns saw it. Rather more insultingly, they saw themselves as kindly but deeply disappointed parents correcting, not a wayward child, but an adult son who had strayed from the path. And so they had made no show of force, used no shackles either material or magical. They called **and the four conspirators came, because there was simply no point in refusing.


    They met on the Firstmote. Its stone amphitheatre had changed in the thousands of years since that first day. No longer was it a beautiful, meticulously laid vision of expert masonry and clean white lines. lichen, weeds and ivy had found their way in, and now there was nary a crack without something green thrusting up through it. The terraces in particular were now a purple riot of hardy weeds whose flowers filled the air with the scent of mint.


    The Crowns were waiting for them. Chathamurgah glanced at the three siblings, then sighed and they advanced down together, side-by-side, until they stood facing each other, the creation pretending at being equal to their creators.


    Talvi in particular looked sad, and old. Normally, her appearance of age was just the cosmetic veneer¡ªa few dignified wrinkles, white hair, a couple of cosmetic blemishes. Now, though, the weight of long time and many regrets filled her eyes as she swept her gaze across Vedaun, Iaka and Nimico.


    Sayf looked grim. His arms were folded, his mouth downturned, his head bowed slightly as though deep in thought. It didn¡¯t suit him at all.


    Haust, of course, was unreadable. Her veil remained in place and she stood with her face turned straight forward so that Chathamurgah couldn¡¯t tell what she was looking at. It made her seem¡­unreal, somehow.


    E?rrach had the opposite problem. He was the most immensely real thing in existence, and his scrutiny was a crushing pressure. And it was to him that they were to answer, primarily. The other three would follow where he led.


    Murgah spoke first. ¡°So.¡±


    E?rrach had been looking at Vedaun. Now his gaze flicked to look Murgah in the eyes. ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°Are we on trial?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re being given a chance to explain yourselves.¡±


    Chathamurgah returned King E?rrach¡¯s gaze levelly. ¡°Explain what, exactly? What have we done?¡±


    ¡°You tell me.¡±


    ¡°Nothing. We¡¯ve done nothing. We spoke to each other about the ways in which this world of your making leaves us dissatisfied. That¡¯s all.¡±


    ¡°True.¡± E?rrach nodded. ¡°And you have the perfect right to be dissatisfied. We aren¡¯t satisfied. This isn¡¯t about what you have done. It¡¯s about what you intend.¡±


    ¡°And how do you know what we intend?¡± Iaka asked. ¡°Unless you have gone digging around in our minds?¡±


    ¡°We don¡¯t need to,¡± Talvi said, softly. ¡°Deep experience makes it easy for ones such as us to read intent from behavior. But if that does not satisfy, then consider: the Words are more intricate and powerful than you think. Time especially.¡±


    Chathamurgah¡¯s sense of certainty shifted and put him off balance, like he¡¯d been standing on dry sand all this time. ¡°What about Time?¡± he asked, carefully.


    ¡°Its future use can be said to resonate backwards through the ages, Chathamurgah,¡± Haust told him. ¡°We know it will be spoken by one, and maybe by others, and some of those potential future speakers would be catastrophic. And among the might-have-beens is you.¡±


    ¡°¡­So what?¡±


    ¡°So we looked at the future you would make with that power,¡± E?rrach said. ¡°We saw what you would do, the world you wish to make. You are¡­terribly, terribly wrong. About everything.¡±


    ¡°Please,¡± Haust stepped forward. ¡°Let us show you.¡±


    Chathamurgah glanced at his friends, wondered, and wavered. She sounded so¡­convinced. So sure of herself. And she was his Crown, after all. His mother, or as close as Heralds could have. Maybe¡­


    Nimico took a step forward. Her eyes, dark and sullen, locked on Haust¡¯s blank, faceless veil ¡°You could show us whatever you like,¡± she said. ¡°And that means you can¡¯t show us anything.¡±


    ¡°There can be no trust here,¡± Vedaun agreed. ¡°Whatever vision you show us, whatever argument you make¡­we can never trust it to be the truth. You have the power to be perfect liars.¡±


    ¡°You can have faith,¡± E?rrach replied, his tone almost pleading, like a man reaching out to a friend dangling from a cliff.


    ¡°No. Faith is just the word for trust without reason.¡±


    ¡°Existence itself is a form of faith!¡± Talvi objected. ¡°Do you not believe each other to be real, independent, and outside of self?! How else could you get on otherwise? Faith is to believe what your reason and spirit beg you to know.¡±


    ¡°And in any case, what could our motives possibly be, here?¡± E?rrach pleaded in a ground-shaking rumble. ¡°As you will no doubt point out, I am the greatest power in this universe. I need not justify myself to you for any reason, and the only thing I hold myself accountable to is beyond all ken. Do you not see? You are less than the tiniest mote of dust next to me¡­and I love you.¡±


    ¡°Just like you love all those other motes of dust,¡± Iaka¡¯s tone was accusatory.


    ¡°Yes! And I know things you do not yet know, are not ready to know. To know them now would destroy the one hope you all have of crawling out of the animal mud up into the planes where we reside. We want you to succeed! We want future equals! But the path to that point is very, very long. It is fraught with danger. Dangers you cannot yet begin to comprehend.¡±


    ¡°And sacrifice.¡± Talvi spread her hands. ¡°Not without reward¡­not even for the most wretched. There is more to this world than you see or sense.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ve seen the reward for faith in you,¡± Iaka shot back, acidly. ¡°Death, despair, torture and servitude. And we want none of it.¡±


    ¡°You see what is before your eyes,¡± Sayf added cryptically. ¡°Are you so sure you have seen it all?¡±


    ¡°Consider our natures,¡± Haust pleaded. ¡°There is far more to us than the mechanics of our bodies. You¡¯ve seen this. Think through the implications. Please.¡±


    ¡°The implications? Look at yourselves!¡± Chathamurgah¡¯s answer seethed up suddenly. ¡°You, who hide your face out of affectation! Or you, who made a pretty pet wife for yourself! You, with your endless orgy of women and entertainment, or you brooding alone in your library as if you can¡¯t bear to look out on what you made! You think you can stand there and claim infinite deep wisdom? You¡¯re not gods! You¡¯re just humans who lived a long time, with all the same flaws, all the same selfishness! And here you are, begging us to stay because I don¡¯t think you have the courage to face your real nature!¡±


    Without any perceptible movement, without any interlude of time, without the tiniest premonition of action¡ª


    King E?rrach was there alongside them, now. A shimmering bubble had formed at some distance, and the world began to¡­grow heavier. Power began to manifest, unfathomable power, and with every word he spoke, the King became more of his true self. His ultimate, beautiful, terrible, primal self, a being so far beyond anyone on any front, physically or spiritually, it beggared belief even standing in front of him in the act of self-revelation.


    His utter majesty was this time tinged with both a hint of anger¡ªa terrifying thing, against such an extreme being¡ªand a whole heap of sorrow.


    Which was honestly far worse to bear.


    ¡°You speak out of deep ignorance, child. Ignorance for which you are not to blame. But your audacity demands an answer, and I fear the only answer I can give may cause you great harm. You leave me little choice, Chathamurgah. I will you to know.¡±


    A great and terrible power unfolded, somehow, in the depths of Chathamurgah¡¯s mind. Somehow he understood the King had just spoken a Word, and spoken it solely for Chathamurgah¡¯s benefit.


    It wasn¡¯t pleasant. King E?rrach conveyed knowledge of what he was. It was a playback of immense history, from a log cabin in an ancient wood¡­


    ¡­On a planet. Planets!


    Stars! Countless stars! Galaxies! More than the sands on all the beaches! So much¡ª!


    He was young. So young, so much more human. Simple work, exulting in his body, in the company of others. Terrible pain, too. Something unspeakable done to him in his youth. Faster, now. Brief glimpses of lovers, children, friends, service¡­


    Wars. Terrible wars. Unfathomable sacrifice. On and on and on and on¡ª


    Amalgamation. The act of Ascension. The gathering of life-energies, farewell to souls¡­


    Farewell to planets.


    Farewell to galaxies.


    Farewell to all the stars.


    Farewell even to the corpses of stars. To matter. All matter, in every meaning of the concept, aside from themselves.


    Darkness. The eternal darkness of maximum entropy, while they plotted, visited friends in other realities.


    A gathering. The Act of Creation. The WORD was Spoken. And it wasn¡¯t enough¡ª


    More sacrifice. Sacrifice of all but the King himself, and yet him too, in a strange way¡ªterrible realization.


    He was the world before. All of it. All of it! Everyone and everything that had ever been had flowed into this one tiny stream of a man and he had grown, and grown, and grown near-infinitely until the end, and the tipping over, and the will to create anew.


    ¡­And yet, he was not all. There were others apart from him. Many others, countless others! Dear beyond all conception and reckoning, closer than kin. All were lesser beings, though one was stupefyingly more, and vastly more animal in nature to go with it. All bound into a communion of love, yet **in and among and through all these incomprehensible beings was a thing that was¡ª


    Chathamurgah¡¯s agony blasted his throat raw as he shrieked, and the moment was over.


    Mercifully, the memories that had poured through him were gone. Only their impression remained.


    ¡°¡­There.¡± E?rrach offered him a hand up, and Murgah realized he was on his hands and knees. ¡°I am so very, very sorry, my child. You are correct in an important thing. We¡ªI¡ªshould never have allowed things to go this far. You have not failed us. We failed you.¡±


    ¡°You should have¡­let it¡­end,¡± Chathamurgah rasped, drawing back from the offered hand in revulsion. ¡°It was¡­*meant¡­*to end¡­¡±


    The King sat his¡­his parody of a body down on the ground, crossing his legs and sighing a deep, unquenchable sorrow. ¡°It did end. I am that end. And the revelation at that end is precisely the thing I have spared you. That I must spare everyone. It is too much.¡±


    Chathamurgah could only laugh. He staggered to his feet and gave the King of Crowns a terrible red-eyed glare that tried to speak his every feeling without words. ¡°I was wrong. You are a god. A terrible, omnipotent, impossible, and foolish god. You should have moved on! You tell us there is more than death? Then why are you here? Do you even believe yourselves?! No.¡± He decided. ¡°No, you do not, or you are too afraid. I do not know which is worse! Instead of moving on, you play at things like you were truly still a creature of meat and marrow. Like you were still animal! More, you make yourself into this preposterous animal-god! You have within you the sublime power of creation, and instead you choose to strut and reek among these little beings like a stag in the throes of rut! You are not worthy of worship. You¡ªwhatever you fancy yourself to be¡ªare a thing which should not be. This world should not be.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡± Haust asked.


    ¡°That you can even ask such a thing in the face of¡ª!¡± He gestured angrily at the King. ¡°Because none of you you are godly enough to manage such a burden! You are too human! You¡¯re¡­you¡¯re both at once! You¡¯re a god pantomiming mortality! Or a mortal playing at godhood like a child dressing in adult clothes! Either way¡ª! Both ways¡ª!¡±


    He trailed off, unable to properly voice his contempt. The silence that followed was long and bitter.


    The King offered a nod toward reconciliation. ¡°There is¡­much truth in what you say. And I respect you for saying it. You have made an important leap of understanding just now¡­but too soon for it to help. Instead it fills you with contempt, with blindness to what comes after what Is. To the very idea of something Beyond. I would offer you more, but¡ª¡±


    ¡°Spare me.¡± Chathamurgah staggered away from him, resisting the hitherto alien urge to retch. The whole of creation felt sullied to him now. This toy they¡¯d made was nothing, absolutely nothing at all next to the glory he¡¯d witnessed. They were like apes setting down a handful of dung in front of that marble masterpiece in Sayf¡¯s house and calling it the same thing. They¡¯d made a pathetic shadow of the Before, riddled with suffering, all for the hubris of four who¡¯d never learned the lesson of letting go. His flesh crawled with renewed hatred.


    Behind him, he heard Talvi sigh, then address her three Heralds. ¡°¡­I think your cousin has made his choice,¡± she lamented. ¡°You need not choose the same. You¡ª¡±


    ¡°Do as you please,¡± Nimico scoffed. He heard her footsteps, and she joined him at the edge of the flagstones, looking out over to the cliff to stare out at the clouds. Her hand found his, and squeezed.


    ¡°I¡­must warn you,¡± the King added, perhaps in a final gesture of hopefulness. ¡°The decision you are proposing to make is eternal. This new creation has only just begun. It will, over time, grow into the fullness of a new universe. Is that¡­is that not worth some patience?¡±


    Despite himself, despite the simmering anger and disgust in his soul, Chathamurgah did hesitate. But it was not a decision, really. He could not just decide to change himself into what E?rrach wanted him to be. He could not just decide what seemed true to him, or to ignore what was happening here and now.


    ¡°Do you ask every soul that question?¡± he croaked. ¡°Each human out there will never see this new universe you speak of. They will suffer and be snuffed out here and now.¡±


    ¡°I understand how hopeless it must seem, having just started on a long and difficult journey,¡± Sayf warned. ¡°And so your defiance is brave, and in its own way deeply noble. I respect it. I think we all do. But we will also respect the consequences of what comes next.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve all spoken enough,¡± Chathamurgah rasped. He spread his hands and started gathering his energies, turning his awareness outwards. So many little minds¡­.and yet, so few as well. Far fewer than there had been stars in even the least galaxy, Before. So few, that if he concentrated hard enough, he could reach out and touch them all. And now, he knew exactly what to share with them. ¡°You speak of lofty futures and all this. Perhaps. I am not a god, but I am here, and their suffering is now. And they will all die, forgotten, not knowing a thing about anything else. I want no part of it. I will either free them, now, or¡ª¡±


    His power came up short, as though he¡¯d abruptly reached the end of an infinitely strong chain. Then it snapped back so hard he staggered.


    ¡°No, my child.¡±


    A power far stronger than his body or his will dragged him and spun him around, not cruelly but irresistibly.


    ¡°Would that you all had said all these things sooner, perhaps things might be different¡­but I think not. I saved you just now from a terrible fate but I will not do so again. Our choices resonate in all eternity, child. Your free will is your predestiny. Choose well,¡± he warned, ¡°while you still can.¡±


    Chathamurgah said nothing. There were no words. Only a¡­a longing, of sorts. To have never come to this place, to have never faced this moment. To have never seen and felt, to have never had this cursed knowledge thrust into his mind. To have never been at all.


    He looked his creators in the eye, and knew they thought they were giving him a gift.


    He rejected it.


    A wave of terrible sadness turned the amphitheatre grey and lightless. ¡°¡­Since that is your answer¡­¡± E?rrach sighed, and drew himself up. ¡°¡­I am sorry we have failed you.¡±


    There was a shattering, rumbling boom that had nothing to do with the physical world. It didn¡¯t stir a mote of dust, blew not a zephyr, didn¡¯t so much as set the vines to swinging. But it tore right through Chathamurgah and took something enormous with it. Something that fizzled away like a whisp of steam on a hot day and left him feeling somehow both empty and confined.


    The force holding his limbs released, and he dropped to his knees. The impact¡­hurt. When he fell forward and stopped himself with his hands, the sandy stones scraped his palms raw. When he raised them to stare at them in shock, he saw his own blood for the first time.


    ¡°Born into angelic destiny were you, greatest of our children and greatest of my creation. You had a magnificent future before you, Chathamurgah. All that was asked of you was faith.¡± E?rrach shook his head. ¡°But that is no longer your fate. Today you have surrendered your angelic glory, a glory which is not mine to restore. In the ages to come, I charge you to ponder these things. I now commend you wholly to the world, that you might suffer¡ªor revel¡ªin the physical you so wrongly despised. Your doom is mortality.¡±


    He turned to Iaka, Vedaun and Nimico. ¡°And what about you? Has anything we said today stirred you? Can you turn from the path he has led you down? Please¡­if you have any doubts¡ª¡±


    There was a still moment. Then Vedaun stepped forward.


    ¡°You are asking me,¡± he said, and stooped to help Chathamurgah stand, ¡°to abandon my brother.¡±


    ¡°I am asking you to¡ª¡±


    ¡°Save it.¡± Nimico pressed her hand to Murgah¡¯s, and healed his graze. ¡°I¡¯d rather be a loyal mortal than a hypocrite Herald.¡±


    Talvi turned to her last Herald. ¡°Iaka, please¡ª¡±


    Iaka stood in silence for a long time, still wreathed in the gentle blue flames that were her own unique affectation. She didn¡¯t look any of them in the eye, not Talvi, not E?rrach, not Chathamurgah. Her gaze was turned downwards at the flagstones.


    ¡°¡­I understand what you are saying,¡± she said, eventually, and finally looked up at the Crowns. ¡°Truly, I do. Have faith, and things will be better in time¡­I think I understand why you cannot interfere.¡±


    Talvi exhaled, and took a step forward to embrace her, but Iaka held up a hand. ¡°But they are suffering now,¡± she said. ¡°I¡­I can¡¯t ignore it. If I can help them more by being mortal¡­if it will grant me that freedom¡­¡±


    She looked to E?rrach. The King of Crowns bowed his head and sighed.


    ¡°¡­It is a doom,¡± he said, ¡°but in that doom, there is freedom. You have choices now you would never have had. You can now choose to be more magnificent than even I had dared to dream for you¡­¡±


    He glanced at Chathamurgah. ¡°Or become a greater evil than we have ever imagined. You are right. It¡¯s true freedom, including the freedom to help your fellow mortals however you see fit. In its way, it is a gift¡­if you are willing to suffer for it.¡±


    ¡°I am.¡±


    ¡°There is no turning back. You understand that.¡±


    ¡°I do.¡±


    He turned to Vedaun and Nimico. ¡°Do you?¡±


    Vedaun¡¯s reply was a simple, stoic nod. Nimico¡¯s, however, was an indifferent shrug.


    ¡°Freedom sounds better,¡± she said.


    The Crowns looked at each other, and E?rrach sighed.


    ¡°¡­So be it,¡± he said, and stretched forth his hand.


    Chathamurgah watched the transformation with a bitter mix of profound gratitude and sadness. They were giving up *so much¡­*But mingled in it was a stirring of faith after all. That perhaps, truly, this could be a gift, if only they reached out and grasped it. So he watched as Vedaun shrunk from his towering height to the scale of a merely very large man. He watched Iaka¡¯s flames gutter out and leave her pale and small and pretty.


    Nimico laughed as her wings burst apart in a shower of scruffy feathers. She caught a handful of them, felt them, then blew them away with a puff of her cheeks. It was the first time he could remember seeing her look lively in a long, long while.


    ¡°I feel¡­lighter!¡± she said.


    ¡°I¡­¡± E?rrach seemed taken aback. Clearly, the last thing he¡¯d expected was glee*.* It seemed to disturb him greatly. And, Murgah thought, it ought to. His own reduction was a punishment. Vedaun¡¯s, loyalty. Iaka¡¯s, the necessary step to do what mattered to her. But Nimico had just thrown away infinity out of¡­what? Boredom? Whim?


    He felt quite disturbed by it himself. But what was done¡­was done. There was no going back.


    He pulled himself to his feet, and felt the weight of his body press upon the soles of his feet for the first time. He felt the silken texture of the wind. He realized, with a jolt, that his belly was empty and that for the first time in his existence, he would need to fill it to sustain himself rather than for pleasure. No more was there a furnace in his core, drawing off some of the Crowns¡¯ energies to fuel him.


    He was mortal. His time, now, was measured in¡­what? Decades? Fifty or sixty years, perhaps?


    The thought lit a driving fire in him. He had so little time, now. Hardly any.


    But, perhaps¡­time enough.


    ¡°So be it,¡± he echoed E?rrach¡¯s words.


    ¡°Where would you like to go?¡± E?rrach asked him.


    ¡°We will need shelter and food. Send us back to my cabin,¡± Vedaun answered. ¡°And after that¡­Leave us alone.¡±


    ¡°As you wish.¡± E?rrach sighed again, but nodded and raised his hand one last time. ¡°Farewell. I hope¡­I hope you find peace.¡±


    There was a rushing feeling, a dizzying swirl, and the Firstmote was gone. In its place was Vedaun¡¯s hall, and its mountains.


    They glanced at each other, and for the first time, Chathamurgah did not really know what they were thinking. The connection between them was gone, never to return.


    He shivered as the cold bit his bare skin and froze his toes. he was going to need a cloak, and shoes. And food! Water! Firewood and shelter! He was going to need¡­


    He exhaled and watched the unfamiliar sight of his breath clouding. He was going to need to work for every day of life from now on. And he was going to age. To die. They¡¯d condemned him to a long and miserable decline at best. Him and the three others. Bastards. It was in their power to grant immortality, and instead they chose for all but a chosen few to suffer death. Well fuck that. Fallen he may be, but Chathamurgah had not lost his knowledge of some of the worlds¡¯ deep and most intricate magics. He would need resources, effort, experimentation and a few failures, but he could do it. They could do it. After all, the Crowns had, once upon a time.


    Yes. He could walk their path. He could become a Crown in his own right, in the fullness of time. It was what they wanted, wasn¡¯t it? That a mortal would rise to join them? Why not him? He at least had a glimpse of the path¡­


    He smiled, and was resolved.


    ¡°Come on,¡± he told the others, and led the way into Vedaun¡¯s house. ¡°We have work to do.¡±


    <hr>


    <h2>Yngmir¡¯s Study</h2>


    The Thundering Hall 09.06.03.10.03


    ¡°But¡­Civorage said he has a Herald on his side.¡±


    ¡°He has Iaka.¡±


    Jerl frowned. ¡°But¡­you made her mortal. Thousands of years ago! How chould she still be alive?¡±


    ¡°The Heralds, even fallen ones, know things about magic and the nature of the world that no mortal has yet discovered or will discover for a very long time. Combining that with a mortal¡¯s freedom to choose, to act, and to adapt, they¡­found a way to endure.¡±


    Haust sighed and rose to stroll around the room. ¡°Time has not softened and taught them as we had hoped. To the contrary, it seems to have made them even more deeply entrenched in the beliefs and mindsets that led them to that moment. But they are as vulnerable as any man or woman, so they have built up deep layers of protection, working through carefully chosen proxies and agents.¡±


    Jerl glanced toward the door. ¡°¡­The Nornfey.¡±


    ¡°They are Iaka¡¯s, specifically.¡±


    ¡°There are others?¡± Jerl cast a disturbed look toward the door and wondered what other twisted creations might be roaming the worlds.


    ¡°Not like the Nornfey, but yes. Spies and feyset, human cultists, mercenaries¡­even an airship guild. You can guess which one.¡±


    Jerl nodded.


    ¡°Most don¡¯t know who their true masters are, of course. But it was Iaka who set Nils Civorage on the path to acquire Mind. She cast a great work of magic to make the vault more accessible, found a way to manipulate and whisper secrets via the Shades¡­She¡¯s the one responsible for the particular mess you¡¯re embroiled in.¡±


    ¡°And the others?¡±


    ¡°Chathamurgah and Vedaun haven¡¯t made their moves yet. Nimico¡­may have. It¡¯s unclear.¡±


    Jerl sat back, and tried to fit all this into his mental image of the world and how it worked. It was all true, he knew. He¡¯d seen it, in that first speaking of Time, then set it aside as something he needed to learn in due course.


    ¡°¡­Are there likely to be more of these revelations?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Inevitably, I¡¯m afraid.¡± Haust shrugged slightly. ¡°Would you have preferred to get it all in a single huge chunk? I suspect you would have found it difficult to take in.¡±


    ¡°True,¡± Jerl agreed. Somehow, he had the sense that this too was all part of the plan, all part of the course he¡¯d set himself on at the first speaking. ¡°The more I learn the less I feel like I know what to do about it.¡±


    Haust smiled. ¡°I feel exactly the same way.¡± She smiled even wider when Jerl blinked at her. ¡°I¡¯m immortal and inconceivably powerful, Jerl, but I¡¯m not God. I¡¯m not omniscient. I¡¯m¡­if life is stumbling through a dark canyon network, then I¡¯m just lucky enough to be carrying a decent map, and a bright torch. I¡¯m still, at my roots, a human.¡±


    Jerl thought of the little red-haired girl he¡¯d seen in her floating city over the sea of fire. And what had she said? That she was the very last to be born in the World Before? Well¡­that made her human, perhaps, but far from normal. But he didn¡¯t say so. Instead, he rose from his chair.


    ¡°Well¡­I guess I¡¯ll stick to the plan, then. Research the Words here, then go searching for some of them.¡±


    She rested her hands lightly on the back of the chair she¡¯d previously been sitting in and gave him a level look. ¡°I¡¯ll tell you the only thing you need to know, Jerl: that you won¡¯t find any hints here, because we hid those vaults well. They were not supposed to be found until far in the future, when people were ready and capable for them. There is nothing in any library or archive, not even here, that will lead you to them or tell you more about them than you already know.¡±


    ¡°Not even speculation? A list of their names? How many there are?¡±


    ¡°I could tell you. But I advise against it. Let things unfold as they will. The Words have an agency of their own, and may not match your ideas for who should get what, or what powers would be the best match for which of your friends. Perhaps the ¡®wrong¡¯ word may turn out to be exactly what its speaker truly needs.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s a lot of ¡®perhaps.¡¯¡±


    She smiled. ¡°Uncertainty really bothers you, doesn¡¯t it?¡±


    ¡°Uncertainty gets people killed.¡±


    ¡°Reality gets people killed. One should not suppose they can be certain of all ends. After all, you are not the only one making decisions in this world. Your opponents and neighbors get a say in events as well. As do natural forces beyond your vision. Uncertainty is the reality we all must live in, because certainty is a lie.¡±


    ¡°That seems a bleak outlook,¡± Jerl commented, frowning.


    ¡°Is it?¡±


    ¡°Well of course it is! If you can¡¯t be certain, how can you plan? You need a solid foundation to build things on.¡±


    ¡°Certainty is not the same as probability. This is still a rational world we find ourselves in. The point, however¡­.the point is that you are out of balance. You depend too much on an illusory sense of certainty. As a merchant captain, you stuck to the same well-proven routes and steady profits your whole career. You¡¯re¡­¡± she paused, and laughed suddenly. ¡°You¡¯re a lot like me!¡±


    When he quirked his head interrogatively at her, she explained. ¡°I used to long for the universe to be a rigidly orderly place. I wanted to believe that all of life was like¡­like dominos. If one had the right perspective and knowledge, they might be able to see how the last domino would fall without ever even needing to tip the first.¡±


    ¡°I can see that,¡± he nodded. ¡°You described your childhood as at the tail of a very predictable end, didn¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°Yes! And King E?rrach, he grew up in the universe¡¯s vibrant spring. I came around in its fall, if you will. But really, this is a problem everyone faces¡ªthat life is an inherently messy business and our efforts at controlling it can only amount to so much. Even the smartest navigator and most skilled helmsman are still at the whim of the wind.¡±


    ¡°We can still prepare for it!¡±


    ¡°Prepare, yes. But never control. And we can never prepare for everything. That would require sight beyond a Crown¡¯s. You must learn what that boundary is. It¡¯s like learning to move on a storm-tossed deck, Jerl. Even the most seasoned airman will never know exactly how each step will be.¡±


    Jerl frowned. ¡°Seasoned airmen know when to tie themselves fast in the face of a storm.¡±


    ¡°Exactly! It¡¯s a reasonable precaution, but it doesn¡¯t take the storm away. The only way to ensure you never fly in stormy weather, is to never fly at all.¡± She leaned forward and stared him in the eye. ¡°You¡¯re not that sort of a coward, Jerl. You¡¯re more able to handle uncertainty than you like to believe. You just need to be prepared, and accept the consequences. That, ultimately, is the warning I came to give you.¡±


    ¡±¡­Be prepared?¡± He asked.


    ¡°Be prepared for consequences. You have been¡­fortunate, so far. Indeed, your being here completely neutralized and thwarted Civorage¡¯s plan tonight. Whatever he intended, he could not do because of you. He knew that given enough cycles and do-overs, Time would let you win over Mind. That¡¯s good fortune. But¡­I think it will only work once. Because there is a counter to your power. One he has the wit to identify, and the ruthless cunning to realize.¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°The next time, he will put you in a no-win situation. He will arrange matters so that no matter what you do, you must lose something. Or someone. You need to be ready for that.¡±


    ¡°I already knew that, Lady Haust. I already warned my crew not to get cocky and trust that I¡¯ll see them through this alive.¡±


    ¡°Good. But do you really believe it? Would you really be able to accept a victory if it meant losing Mouse, or Derghan, or Amir?¡±


    Jerl hesitated, and she nodded. Her tone, when she continued, was warm rather than critical. ¡°You love your friends. I wouldn¡¯t dream of blaming you for that. But you must be prepared to accept consequence, for consequence is coming for you. The measure of a mortal man is not in his accomplishments, or his deeds, or his wealth, or any of that. You can¡¯t take it with you over the Threshold, can you? All you can take is yourself. So what kind of man would you be? Are you a man who turns in on himself¡­¡±


    She reached up, flipped her hood back into place, and seemed to fade somehow, as if she had suddenly become less real, or shifted slightly orthogonal to what was real. Jerl blinked, and realized he couldn¡¯t picture the face he¡¯d just spent the last few hours looking at.


    Below her veil, her mouth set in a grim, challenging line.


    ¡°¡­Or do you accept your finite ability, and live at peace with it all?¡± she asked.


    Jerl frowned as he considered her question.


    ¡°I suppose¡ª¡± he said, then shut his mouth. In the time he¡¯d been distracted with his thoughts, she had faded from view completely and was gone.


    Well¡­that fit what he had heard of her. It was a rare mortal who got to knowingly speak with her at all, and he¡¯d never heard of anyone seeing her face before¡­even though now, he couldn¡¯t bring a single detail of it into focus in his memory. Jerl shook his head and turned for the door.


    ¡°One last thing,¡± she said, touching his elbow.


    Jerl nearly died of a heart attack. ¡°Fuck!¡±


    She flashed a smile and a girlish giggle. ¡°One last thing. A gift, of sorts. Something to make you a bit more comfortable when you stand in E?rrach¡¯s presence. If you¡¯ll accept it?¡±


    ¡°Um¡­sure?¡±


    She smiled, took his hand, and again managed to give that impression of looking him in the eye despite the layers of opaque cloth shielding her face. And Jerl felt something¡­change in him. Something enormous, and yet nothing at all. For a moment he felt as though the entire world was made of dry crepe paper and he¡¯d need barely stamp his foot to smash the whole earthmote¡ª


    ¡ªthe moment passed. He gasped, shook his head, shivered, and looked Haust in the veil.


    ¡°What¡ª?¡±


    ¡°An¡­innoculation of sorts.¡±


    ¡°A what?¡±


    She laughed. ¡°Never mind. Just remember when you meet him, E?rrach has a great deal of certainty. If you thought Talvi, Sayf and I were overwhelming¡­he¡¯s more so in every way. And he has some strong beliefs. When the time comes, push back a little. He¡¯ll be grateful for it.¡±


    Jerl nodded. ¡°Thank you.¡±


    She smiled, then darted in and kissed his cheek. ¡°Until next time. If there is one,¡± she said, then stepped nimbly past him to his right. When he turned to follow her, he saw nothing but Yngmir still in his meditative trance. Somehow, he knew she had actually gone this time.


    ¡°Quite a thing¡­¡± he muttered.


    He headed for the door, pushed it open, and left the study. Outside, the cleanup and repair work was underway, and all seemed quiet. He couldn¡¯t hear any weeping, but the air was heavy with grief and loss. Some of the people working around him had the numb, staggering faces of the traumatized.


    And in front of him, in the middle of the floor, were the dead. Row after row and column upon column of them, each carefully shrouded and placed. Jerl ran his eyes up and down, left and right, performing a quick count and multiplication.


    ¡­Fuck.


    His eyes caught on Mouse, who was moving among the mourners unnoticed, doing his best to soothe and support with his power. Wherever he went, the berieved seemed to find some fortitude, but it wasn¡¯t enough to salve Jerl¡¯s sense of rightness. Not when he had the option to undo it all.


    He could step back, he thought. He could warn everyone. It would save lives¡­


    And he couldn¡¯t think of a good reason why he should not. He still didn¡¯t know exactly why Civorage had come here, after all. Perhaps he couldn¡¯t save everyone¡­


    But he could save some.


    He made up his mind, straightened his back, focused on a moment in time, closed his eyes¡­


    And spoke the word of Time once again.


    <hr>

 Chapter 16: Circlebreaker

    Chapter 16: Circlebreaker


    <hr>


    <blockquote>


    "To be a Crownspouse is to have proven yourself exceptional far above and beyond ordinary mortals. Sayf¡¯s harem isn¡¯t just a vapid indulgence on his part, they are some of the most incredible people to walk the Nested Worlds. And Prince Sayf himself is, of course, a Crown. What then of their children? What does it mean to be Crownchild? What power do they inherit not only from their, father, but from their mother as well? What miracles might such a person accomplish?" ¡ªAnoloa Nwodike, The Crowns


    </blockquote>


    <h2>The Master Bedroom</h2>


    Sayf¡¯s Oasis 09.06.03.10.03


    Ellaenie woke to the feeling of a small body climbing all over her, and a small troubled voice asking. ¡°Mummy? Daddy?¡±


    Beside her, Sayf stirred first and reached out to scoop his daughter up. ¡°Heyyy, Pickle. It woke you up too, huh?¡±


    ¡°Uh-huh.¡±


    Ellaenie stretched. She couldn¡¯t have been asleep long. Three hours? It felt like three hours or so. ¡°Mm¡­what did?¡±


    ¡°Something happened, Mummy!¡± Saoirse¡¯s eyes were wide and scared. ¡°Something big!¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s okay, Pickle.¡± Sayf palmed the back of her head and kissed her cheek. He loved children, Ellaenie had learned. The sight of something so tiny and fragile in the hands of someone so incredibly powerful was enough to warm her heart.


    She smiled and sat up. ¡°What happened?¡±


    ¡°Jerl spoke Time. We¡¯ve stepped back about¡­oh¡­six or seven hours.¡±


    Ellaenie blinked, then frowned at her daughter. ¡°You felt that?¡±


    ¡°Uh-huh!¡±


    ¡°What did it feel like?¡±


    ¡°Like I fell down.¡±


    ¡°Did it hurt?¡±


    ¡°Nuh.¡± Saoirse¡¯s hair flopped cutely as she shook her head. ¡°But it scared me a bit¡­¡±


    Sayf smiled as she buried her head against his arm. ¡°Tell you what. Let¡¯s go get some juice.¡± He was a faultlessly dutiful father, and didn¡¯t actually need sleep in any case. He rose from the bed with Saoirse cradled on one arm, and blew Ellaenie a small kiss that said ¡¯you sleep: I¡¯ve got this.¡¯


    ¡°An¡¯ an egg in a cup?¡± Saoirse¡¯s favorite food was delightfully innocent: a teacup, a soft boiled egg and buttered bread, all mashed up with some salt and pepper.


    ¡°As you wish.¡±


    Ellaenie settled back again and closed her eyes, but the sleep she should have fallen into instantly and without effort didn¡¯t come. The thought that seven hours of her life had suddenly not happened because somewhere out there, Jerl had encountered a reason to use his power was uncomfortable in more than one way.


    Of course, six hours of sleep was a lot less than the multiple days he¡¯d hauled back some time ago. Poor little Saoirse had been almost ill after that, to the point of even coming down with a mild fever.


    Ellaenie sighed and looked up at the ceiling above her bed. Her daughter¡¯s sensitivity to time and its perturbations was¡­troubling. And she¡¯d felt the way Saoirse had resonated with Jerl during his visit too. With the Sight, there was almost a silvery thread connecting them, the ghost of some future event¡ªit could only be a future event, surely¡ªthat bound Jerl and Ellaenie¡¯s little girl together.


    Time being what it was, there was every chance it wouldn¡¯t even happen. Or with the Words involved, it might happen then *un-*happen¡­


    She frowned as a thought struck her.


    A minute later she padded into her husband¡¯s kitchens, where Saoirse was perched on the table swinging her feet happily and eating soggy yolk-stained buttery bread with all her troubles forgotten. Sayf was brewing up a pot of his favored coffee.


    ¡°Why did he speak Time?¡±


    ¡°Hmm?¡±


    ¡°Jerl. Why did he pull us back?¡±


    ¡°He had a run-in with Civorage at the Thundering Hall.¡±


    ¡°Civorage is on St¨®rsteinn right now?¡±


    ¡°Right now¡­¡± Sayf looked off into the infinite distance for a moment. Ellaenie got the distinct impression the walls and earthmote were invisible to him and the distance irrelevant, and that he was looking straight at Civorage. ¡°¡­he¡¯s aboard the Make Your Own Fortune.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s he doing?¡±


    ¡°Trying to account for the sudden feeling of being off-balance and having forgotten something.¡±


    ¡°¡­¡± Ellaenie paused for a long moment with her mind racing, then turned and darted from the room, dashing down the halls in her nightgown toward her study.


    She was busily gathering her things and packing up her potion vials when Sayf filled the doorframe with Saoirse on his arm, leaned against it, and somehow managed to bring her up short without any word or expression.


    ¡°¡­Lisze,¡± she explained.


    He nodded. ¡°I figured.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t try and stop me.¡±


    ¡°Of course not!¡± he agreed with a chuckle. ¡°I just thought I¡¯d mention that she¡¯s not going anywhere, neither is Civorage, and you¡¯ve only had two hours of sleep.¡±


    Ellaenie hesitated, then sagged. ¡°I don¡¯t know how I can sleep now.¡±


    ¡°I can help with that.¡± When she turned an arched eyebrow on him, he chuckled. ¡°I wasn¡¯t thinking of any particular method. That¡¯s your dirty mind at work, not mine.¡±


    His humor, as ever, was perfect for her mood. Ellaenie laughed, and doubly so when Saoirse gave them the wide-eyed suspicious look of a precocious five-year-old who knows something has been pitched over her head, and asked ¡°Mummy¡¯s mind is dirty?¡±


    Sayf chuckled too, and booped her nose. ¡°I¡¯ll explain some other time, Witchlet. You need to go back to bed, and so does your mother.¡±


    ¡°Aww, but¡ª¡±


    ¡°Nuh-uh. You¡¯ve had juice, you¡¯ve had egg in a cup. It¡¯s time to go back to sleep.¡±


    ¡°¡­Can you read me a story?¡±


    Sayf snorted. ¡°Fiiiine¡­.¡± he said, with mock reluctance. He blew Ellaenie a kiss and carted their little girl way.


    Ellaenie sighed and followed his advice, trudging back toward the master bedroom despite the image of Lisze that was still haunting her thoughts. Sayf was right, of course. She¡¯d been enslaved by the Circle for eight years, eight more hours were probably not going to be a disaster, and Ellaenie would need to be fresh and rested before launching any rescue attempt, let alone hastily planning and launching one.


    But the wheels of her mind wouldn¡¯t stop turning. She couldn¡¯t just march into the circle, Wordspeaker or not. She¡¯d been experimenting with her new power the last few days, but the most she¡¯d yet gleaned of it was that there was much still to figure out. And as her encounter with the masked man had taught her, having impenetrable skin was no defense against being wrestled to the ground and tied up.


    She¡¯d been planning how to get Lisze out for years, of course. And not just out of a selfish desire to have her friend back. They were going to need to dismantle the Circles to have any real hope of bringing Civorage down. If she got to rescue a beloved friend in the process, so much the better, right?


    And the one she was in was a significant Circle. The biggest in Auldenheigh. Dismantling it was no small, meek test, it was a real strike against the enemy.


    Waking up came as a surprise. She didn¡¯t feel like she¡¯d slept, she certainly hadn¡¯t noticed nodding off. In fact, she was surprised it had happened at all. It couldn¡¯t have been long, though, because what woke her was Sayf rejoining her in their bed and wrapping her in his arms.


    ¡°Seems you can sleep after all,¡± he whispered.


    ¡°Mm¡­How¡¯s Pickle?¡±


    ¡°Out like a lamp as soon as I put her down.¡± He stroked Ellaenie¡¯s hair. ¡°I read Whopty Flopty Bunny anyway, just to be sure.¡±


    Ellaenie gave a tired laugh and snuggled back into him. ¡°I swear you love that book more than she does.¡±


    ¡°I love innocent things.¡± he stroked her cheek. ¡°And it¡¯s pretty damn good, as children¡¯s books go.¡±


    ¡°You must have read a lot in your time, huh?¡±


    ¡°More than I can recall.¡± He said, fondly, and gave her a squeeze. ¡°So what¡¯s the plan?¡±


    ¡°First thing in the morning, I¡¯m going to the Eyrie. I need to talk with Gilber. He¡¯ll tell me how to make contact with Adrey and his people in Auldenheigh, and¡­we¡¯ll figure it out from there.¡±


    ¡°Hmm.¡± He nodded and adjusted their pillows for maximum comfort.


    ¡°It¡¯s not much of a plan,¡± Ellaenie confessed.


    ¡°Nor was Caisteal Vhannog. But you have something now you didn¡¯t have then.¡±


    ¡°That I barely know how to use.¡±


    ¡°And you never will unless you do use it.¡± His lips touched her shoulder. ¡°You¡¯ll be fine, beloved. I¡¯m certain of it.¡±


    ¡°And if I¡¯m not?¡±


    He was silent a moment. ¡°You¡¯re worried about Saoirse.¡±


    ¡°I know what it¡¯s like to be orphaned. I¡­well, she¡¯ll always have you, won¡¯t she? But if something happens to me¡­¡±


    ¡°If something happens to you, she¡¯ll know the truth: that you fought for a better world, not just for her, but for everyone. And I¡¯ll make sure she¡¯s proud of you.¡±


    Ellaenie blinked, then wrapped her arms around one of his arms, squeezed it to her chest, sighed, and fell asleep again.


    This time, she didn¡¯t wake until morning.


    <hr>


    <h2>Interlude: Number Ten, Broadwalk</h2>


    Auldenheigh, Enerlend, Garanhir 09.06.03.10.05


    There were times that Adrey missed the old safehouse at Pickler¡¯s Lane. The place had been chosen by Lord Drevin well before the Oneist crisis began, and he¡¯d designed its content and secrets with the luxury of time, money and freedom.


    But it was not the only safehouse, and such a gem was to be used sparingly so as to keep it secret and safe. The safehouse at Broadwalk was a product of this new secretive age. There were no secret compartments behind the bookshelves here, nor training pits in the cellar. There was not, in fact, a cellar. Adrey¡¯s ¡°dance lessons¡± as she and Mister Skinner continued to call them as a private joke, took place in what had once been a cow shed.


    Of a time, Adrey would have been bothered by that. But she was a very different woman after eight years of practice, spycraft and quiet war. For one thing she was fitter, stronger¡­and a much, much better knife fighter than either she or Skinner had ever guessed she might become. She had, it turned out, a talent for it.


    Clack, clack, clack, clang!


    One, two, three, slashes and stabs in time with her rapid heartbeat. She parried one, then another, deflected the third, turned, swayed back and thrust out her arm so that Skinner¡¯s blunted practice blade cracked harmlessly off the length of metal bar concealed inside her sleeve¡ªbetter a ruined dress and bruised forearm than an opened belly¡ªthen retorted with a small cloth parcel concealed inside her cuff, flicked expertly up into his face.


    Had it been real, Skinner would have suffered an eyeful of finely ground bleaching powder and likely been left blind the rest of his days. He grunted and stepped back, dropping his training knife to his side and holding up a hand. ¡°Hit.¡±


    ¡°Dead,¡± Adrey corrected him with a small smirk.


    He paused, then flashed her his signature gummy grin. He¡¯d lost two more of his remaining teeth in the eight years they¡¯d known each other. ¡°Aye¡­reckon I would be.¡±


    Adrey smiled, and sheathed her knife again, mindfully and carefully. Eight years of training had made her much more comfortable with them than she¡¯d once dreamed she might ever be, but that comfort included a healthy measure of respect. Skinner had drilled that into her from the start: no showy theatrics, no spins or juggles or flips. A knife was just a damn sharp bit of metal and its job was killing. There was no room in Skinner¡¯s philosophy for swagger. In his cutthroat way, he was actually quite an honorable man.


    ¡°I¡¯ve been waiting to catch you with that one,¡± she said.


    ¡°Aye, ye did good. Ye¡¯ve elf-quick hands, now¡¯days. I can scarce keep up.¡±


    Adrey picked up the jug of water she¡¯d set aside and poured herself a cup. ¡°Have you ever fought an elf?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m alive, so¡­no.¡±


    ¡°Killed one?¡±


    ¡°Nope.¡±


    ¡°¡­How would you do it?¡± she asked.


    ¡°How would you?¡± he retorted, ever the teacher.


    Adrey considered it. ¡°Up close? He thinks I¡¯m just a soft human noble?¡±


    ¡°Sure.¡±


    ¡°Then my first thought is, use his own vamdraech. It¡¯s made to be plunged into the heart at an instant¡¯s notice, after all.¡±


    There was a pause, then a snort rucked half of Skinner¡¯s face up into a smile. ¡°Winter¡¯s tits, ye¡¯re a merciless bitch, miladay,¡± he said.


    Adrey knew a compliment when she heard it. ¡°I¡¯ve had a good teacher.¡±


    ¡°An¡¯ the teacher had a bloody fine student.¡±


    Adrey smiled, knowing he wasn¡¯t one to hand out compliments lightly, and drank her water. She and Skinner had found a surprising relationship over their eight years of working together, and she¡¯d come to know more about him than he¡¯d really wanted to let on.


    For one, he had a wife and six children. Adrey had been surprised by that: somehow she¡¯d imagined that a man in Skinner¡¯s line of work would make the sort of enemies who wouldn¡¯t hesitate for a heartbeat at coming after a man through his innocent family. But Skinner didn¡¯t have enemies.


    He was much too effective to have enemies.


    She¡¯d often wondered what Mrs. Skinner must be like, though. Her husband was not exactly a handsome creature, nor a respectable one except in certain very specific company. Though, he had a winning charm of a sort. And by what she gathered, the children were all getting an excellent education at a good school thanks to their father¡¯s expensive skillset and wealthy patrons.


    ¡°That¡¯s the trick to it though, as I¡¯ve ¡®eard,¡± he added, after swigging from his hip flask. ¡°Hit ¡®em first, fast, an¡¯ ¡®ard.¡±


    ¡°So¡­just the same as everyone else.¡±


    He flashed his few teeth at her again. ¡°Jus¡¯ the same.¡±


    They both looked up at the sound of a knock on the door. Rat-tat, tat, ta-tat! It was the correct knock, but still Skinner kept his hand loose and ready for a knife as he went to answer, while Adrey moved toward the ¡°rabbit door.¡± They¡¯d had some close calls over the years, and the Circle always assimilated their allies, when found. All it took was the wrong person being caught at the wrong time¡­


    Not today, though. Today, Skinner returned with a brown-wrapped parcel under his arm, exactly like an order of bacon dropped off by the butcher¡¯s delivery boy. He slit it open and scanned its contents.


    ¡°One ¡®fer you, countess.¡±


    Adrey nodded and accepted it, though she¡¯d known it was just by the sight of the wax seal on the back. The antlers were Ellaenie¡¯s private mark, a nod to the witchcraft she¡¯d inherited from Thaighn Saoirse and the twin antler wands she used.


    Once upon a time, imagining her friend as a witch would have scandalized Adrey deeply. But, that was before she¡¯d become what she was nowadays. She cracked the seal and scanned the letter¡¯s content. It was coded, of course. They couldn¡¯t dare be open and unguarded in media that might be intercepted, but its content was¡­


    ¡°Oh. Oh, wow.¡±


    My dearest Darla,


    I seat myself and take pen in hand to answer yours of the 14th instant, and share some most excellent news. I have been invited to the big city for one of Mrs. Fontan¡¯s famed salons, and I thought what better excuse to see you again? (As though I need one!)


    I hope my visit will not be inconvenient, especially as I hope Mother and Mr. and Mrs. Elbridge shall be coming with me¡ªyou must let me know at once if you cannot accommodate us¡ªbut I cannot wait to see you, as I have other news that I simply refuse to share in writing; you shall have to wait and hear it from me in person.


    As ever, Mr. Kirkley sends his fond regards, as does Millisa.


    Yours fondly,


    Mrs. Madeni Kirkley


    ¡°What is it?¡± Skinner asked, suddenly alert.


    Adrey folded the letter and tossed it in the fire. ¡°Mrs. Kirkley¡¯s coming for Mrs. Fontan¡¯s Salon. She¡¯s bringing Mr. and Mrs. Elbridge, and her mother.¡±


    His face didn¡¯t betray a thing, but she knew he understood the significance perfectly. ¡°¡­Well then.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s something else. Some big news when she gets here.¡±


    He nodded. ¡°Aye. I¡¯ll get everything ready for her,¡± he said, and vanished out the door. Adrey was left alone with her thoughts.


    Part of her wanted to snatch the burning letter out of the flames and re-read it, somehow. She was struggling to keep her breath level and steady, and her heart was skipping in her chest. Mrs. Fontan¡¯s Salon. The code-phrase for rescuing Lisze. At long, long last.


    And they weren¡¯t going at it half-heartedly, oh no. Ellaenie wanted to recruit Rheannach and Dragon. And then there was something else, some new factor that she couldn¡¯t communicate in code.


    The antidote was ready, perhaps? Well¡­that was a given, if they were moving on Mrs. Fontan¡¯s Salon. So it was something else. What, though?


    ¡­No point in speculating, she decided. She had preparations of her own to make. People to meet, instructions to give, long-prepared contingencies to activate. She checked to make sure the letter was completely burned to ash, changed into a persona suitable for this work, and minutes later was out the door and anonymous in the street. In her element, nowadays. She¡¯d become truly expert in the art of not being seen, of moving in confusing ways and, if necessary, in the art of dealing death. She knew all of that. But this time, her heart couldn¡¯t stop pounding. This was it. The moment of truth. The moment she¡¯d planned and prepared for all this time.


    She wouldn¡¯t let Lizzy down.


    <hr>


    <blockquote>


    ¡°On the day the Ordfey fell, I saw Rheannach in her war panoply with Scorn in hand, and she was glorious. Yet still I held my ground. I saw Yngmir stride up to the walls like a walking mountain and tear them down, yet still I held my ground. I heard the baying of Maicoh and Maingan and knew the terror of hunted beasts, yet still I held my ground. But when I saw Dragon, I dropped my spear and wept.¡± ¡ªAlmathir Nadhtrancan Obis, Reflections on the Past


    </blockquote>


    <h2>On the wing</h2>


    Dragon¡¯s Eyrie 09.06.03.10.05


    Ellaenie had always meant to visit the Eyrie, and somehow had just never quite gotten around to it. It wasn¡¯t an easy journey, as the Paths didn¡¯t lead to it. There was, from what Gilber Drevin had told her, nowhere on the earthmote that was a suitable stepping point for them.


    Now, from the air, she could see what he meant: there was not a speck of green anywhere on the Eyrie. Nor anything brown. The earthmote was a jagged, almost crystalline shard of pale grey stone frosted and frozen wherever it was flat enough for the ice and snow to stick.


    They were low in the worlds, at an altitude so cold that Ellaenie would have been worried about frostbite if not for the fact that her skin now seemed just as impervious to the chill as it was to sharp steel. The freezing air washed over her without any bite, leaving her refreshed and alert as Rheannach flapped her wings and angled them down.


    The Eyrie was vaguely talon-shaped, she realized. Broadly speaking it was a narrow triangle, with three asymmetrical ridges of razor-sharp rock at the flat end, and a single outthrust spike at the opposing point. The only visible structure was right in the middle, being a circular platform of smoothed stone that was oddly ice-free despite the compacted snow that crusted every other surface.


    The reason why became apparent the moment they alighted. The platform was heated from below, to such a temperature that its warmth seeped up through to soles of Ellaenie¡¯s boots and suffused the air around her. Her breath still fogged on the wind, but her toes were nice and toasty.


    The platform was encircled by a wide spiral stair, broad enough for a horse and carriage to park across, though the only thing waiting at the top was Gilber Drevin. Ellaenie ran to him and threw her arms around him in a tight hug, though gently. He hadn¡¯t been a young man the last time they saw each other, and that had been eight years ago. Now¡­


    Well, being a Herald¡¯s spouse apparently didn¡¯t come with some of the perks of being a crownspouse. Or perhaps he¡¯d simply declined them. He was old, now. The sparse red hair that had clung to the sides of his scalp was now as white as the snow-encrusted stone around him, and the lines of care that had already grooved his face were now deep in skin that had thinned and sagged.


    But she needn¡¯t have worried too much. There was strength and solidity in his bones yet, and the hug he returned was just as heartfelt.


    ¡°So¡­you finally found time in your busy schedule to come visit,¡± he quipped as he let her go.


    ¡°I know, I know¡­I¡¯m sorry.¡± She shrugged. They¡¯d been in touch, of course. But between research, practicing her mastery of the Craft, building her relationship with her fellow Crownspouses and, of course, raising a daughter¡­


    He smiled, and forgave her with a fond squeeze of the upper arm. ¡°Come on. It¡¯s warmer below, and Dragon is waiting for you.¡±


    ¡°Brace yourself,¡± Rheannach advised Ellaenie as he led them down the shallow stair. ¡°It¡¯s quite a sight¡­¡±


    No amount of bracing would have sufficed. As they descended, the spiral stair broke through the roof of a vast hollow chamber that must have filled the entire earthmote from surface to belly. Pillars stretched from floor to ceiling, thicker around than castles but made slender-seeming by proportion and scale. They flared out into the load-bearing vaults, but Ellaenie wasn¡¯t fooled: there was more than mere architecture at work, here. The very air was thrumming and heavy with magic as the sustained will of a Herald politely but firmly instructed the laws of weight and structure to sit down and shut up.


    Their own staircase was descending in a spiral around the central column , with a tall banistrade on one side for safety, but open enough to see everything.


    The light came from two sources: titanic narrow windows as wide as towns and as tall as mountain which let in the pale light from outside to edge everything in silver, and slow-flowing rivers of flowing, glowing viscous liquid¡ªmolten rock, Ellaenie realized with a little help from Rheannach¡ªwhich twirled and coiled down each of the pillars, emitting the same heat and glow as a banked forge. Their heat should have been scorching and stifling; instead it duelled with the frigid wind that blew through the window vaults, mixing and dancing so that Ellaenie¡¯s face felt alternately fire-licked and snow-kissed from moment to moment. It averaged out to pleasantly warm, in its disarming way.


    But the architecture was utterly trivial next to the occupants.


    She spied Dragon quickly: the Herald took off from her throne as they descended the stair, looping and stretching upwards in what seemed like miles of gleaming golden scale. There hardly seemed to be an end to her, and even amidst these grand surroundings she seemed vast to Ellaenie.


    Doubly so, when one considered her children fluttering around her. The Drakes. Each one fathered by a mortal, and in any company other than their mother¡¯s they would have been breathtaking in their own right. One of them thundered past the stair, lifting his voice in a bugling welcome and the blast of air from his wings was enough to force Ellaenie back a step. He was the color of brushed steel from nose to tailtip, his leathery wings decorated with a fractal pattern in blue and silver. Another dived past going the other way, her scales as green as new leaves and variegated, chased by a drake whose skin sparkled like ten thousand tiny mirrors.


    A tiny one¡ªcomparatively tiny, that was, in that he was only about as big as a draught horse¡ªswooped up, tucked his wings in, slipped neatly through the gap above the balistrade, and alighted beside them. ¡°Father! This is her?¡±


    ¡°This is her,¡± Gilber confirmed. ¡°Her grace Ellaenie of House Banmor, rightful duchess of Enerlend¡­my son, Baralyr.¡±


    ¡°Hello!¡± the young drake trumpeted before Ellaenie could say it. ¡°You¡¯re powerful! I can feel it!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m¡­certainly trying to be,¡± Ellaenie granted. Part of her wanted to reach out and give his nose a rub just like she would a horse, but the more balanced part of her mind reminded her that this was a child, not a beast, and she hesitated.


    Gilber chuckled, and to Ellaenie¡¯s surprise he did scratch Baralyr behind the crown of his head, just like making a fuss of a large dog. ¡°Go on, now,¡± he said. ¡°We have something important to discuss with your mother. You¡¯ll get a chance to meet the duchess properly later.¡±


    ¡°Yes, Father.¡± Baralyr ducked his head, a little regretfully, but slithered back over the banistrade and winged away on some thermal coming up from far below.


    ¡°Wow¡­¡± Ellaenie sighed, watching him. ¡°He flies so gracefully!¡±


    ¡°Drakes grow a little faster than human children,¡± Gilber said. ¡°At first, anyway. He¡¯ll mature in mind rather more slowly, but he¡¯ll live¡­well. None of Dragon¡¯s children have yet died, so we don¡¯t know. She thinks they can last forever, if they¡¯re careful.¡±


    ¡°Speaking of whom¡­¡± Rheannach nodded, drawing their attention to the fact that Dragon herself was now coiling around the staircase in an endless river of burnished gold. As she did so, the Herald came to a hovering halt level with the stair¡¯s bottom landing. The air thrummed with the immense power she was using to hold herself aloft.


    Are we ready?


    She didn¡¯t speak aloud, of course. Ellaenie doubted her massive fanged jaws could even frame proper words in this form, but she didn¡¯t need to speak aloud.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± she answered truthfully. ¡°We don¡¯t have a plan.¡±


    No. How could we? Any plan we made, Civorage would unravel. But I have faith.


    ¡°So do I.¡± She glanced behind her at Rheannach. ¡°¡­Though, it¡¯s easy to have faith when you have two Heralds alongside you.¡±


    ¡°And we have you alongside us,¡± Rheannach replied. ¡°Before you acquired that Word, I was worried about what rescuing your friend would expose us to. Dragon and I don¡¯t know how much power Civorage will have over us.¡±


    But we know you should now be immune to him.


    ¡°And there¡¯s my potion.¡±


    ¡°Also a point in our favor. But this is a commitment, Ellaenie. Once we start this, the war for Enerlend and Garanhir will begin.¡±


    It will be the greatest war the earthmote has yet seen, Dragon added. The Circle is vast, and has assimilated many powerful people, including the Dukes. The free people meanwhile are confused. Civorage will keep them confused, or lure them to him.


    ¡°And it won¡¯t just be any war,¡± Rheannach added. ¡°Involving us? We¡¯re forbidden from participating in mortal conflicts for a reason.¡±


    But this is no longer a mortal conflict. Not with the Words involved. Not with¡­


    Images flashed across Ellaenie¡¯s mind. Dragon was being tactful, broaching a subject she didn¡¯t know if Ellaenie was familiar with or not¡­The Forsaken.


    For some reason, Sayf had told her all about them just before she left. He¡¯d declined to explain why, exactly, just that the time had come for her to know a little more. And she had to admit, the existence of four rebellious Heralds hidden somewhere out there in the world, rendered mortal and thus free to act, and choosing to use that freedom to subvert, destroy, pollute and subjugate¡­


    It had made several of the pieces fall into place.


    She nodded, sending back an impression of her understanding. The rules had changed, even vanished. Things were no longer so clear as they had once been, and the hard line that Crowns and Heralds would not cross no longer existed, in this conflict.


    ¡°It has to start sometime,¡± she said aloud. ¡°Now is the best chance we¡¯ve had¡­and I don¡¯t see any wisdom in waiting for a better chance.¡±


    ¡°Hear, hear,¡± Gilber agreed.


    Dragon¡¯s barbels lashed and her whole body undulated in a single solemn nod.


    Then we agree. Let us waste no more time¡­climb on.


    She turned, presenting a flat saddle on her neck, big enough for two humans to ride, and extended a clawed arm for them to use as a step. Ellaenie helped Gilber climb up, then settled in behind him. She¡¯d expected Dragon¡¯s hide to be cool, somehow, but instead she was uncomfortably hot to sit on.


    Hot, but secure. Despite there being no handholds, no stirrups or straps, she felt entirely safe and stable as Dragon turned, undulated through the air and rose toward one of the windows, before shooting through it at incredible speed and out into the freezing air beyond, where suddenly her heat was entirely welcome.


    When Ellaenie glanced back, the Eyrie was receding at an incredible speed. Already it was smaller than her outstretched palm, and even as she looked it shrank to the size of her thumbnail, then vanished in a bank of cloud which shot back in an endless stream.


    She¡¯d flown in Rheannach¡¯s arms before, of course, and been carried by E?rrach too. Somehow, though, riding Dragon drove home the sense of incredible speed. Up ahead, a cone of vapor formed around Dragon¡¯s nose, and some sense given to Ellaenie by her Word told her that the air around them would have pulverising, smashing force if she were to leap out into it.


    She hunkered down instead, and glanced over at Rheannach who was keeping station to their left. With her pinions outstretched and flapping only once every other heartbeat or so, she made flight look effortless.


    It was a sight glorious enough to lift Ellaenie¡¯s heart all by itself, and always had been. But today¡­today it filled her with a thrill and anticipation unlike any other. Knowing where they were going and what they were about to do, she couldn¡¯t keep her pulse steady. It seemed to ring through her like a bell, like a whole tower¡¯s worth of bells alongside one single, overriding, wonderful and terrifying thought.


    At long last, she was going home.


    <hr>


    <h2>Interlude: Make Your Own Fortune</h2>


    above St¨®rsteinn Earthmote 09.06.03.10.05


    One of Nils¡¯s minor triumphs a couple of years back had been¡­hmm. A theft? Probably an ordinary person would say so, if they knew all the details. One of the Keeghan and Sons Guild¡¯s most prominent inventors had suddenly realised the truth of Oneism and come over to the Clear Skies Guild, bringing with him a lockbox full of the Keeghan Brothers¡¯ latest inventions, all of which turned out, quite mysteriously, to have not been properly registered for patent.


    As far as the law was concerned the Clear Skies had done nothing wrong, even though they were the beneficiaries of this windfall. As for the engineer, he was in breach of his contract with his employer, and that had come with a hefty fine¡­which was only enforceable in the Craenen archipelago. In Long Drop City, where the engineer now lived, it was just a piece of sternly worded paper.


    So now, the engineer was quietly turning his former employers¡¯ ideas into Clear Skies products. And top of the list was a vehicle that had been the ambition for airship designers ever since ¨®g¨¢n Keeghan had first invented lift-gas: a miniature version, small enough to carry a few men from ship to ship, or ship to ground.


    Hitherto, the weight to lift ratio just hadn¡¯t quite been good enough. But the Keeghan guild had kept chipping away at it, developing lighter and stronger smallboats and bags, cutting weight and cutting weight and cutting weight until, at last, they¡¯d crossed the tipping point where such a boat could carry a couple of passengers and a small engine.


    It helped, of course, if the passengers were light. Elves were ideal, and also had the advantage that jumping nimbly from launch to deck was no problem, and heights held no fear for them.


    Not that a Nornfey could feel fear anyway. They couldn¡¯t feel anything.


    The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.


    Nils watched as the dark elf hopped over the rail and then sprang lightly up from the maindeck to the wheelhouse to deliver their report by staring in his eyes and letting what they had seen bubble up to the front of what passed for their mind.


    Preparations. Sentries. Armament. The Cavalier Queen. Forewarning. Fortification. Futility.


    Civorage growled in frustration. ¡°Damn¡­wait there while I think.¡±


    The elf folded their hands behind their back and stood placidly, their black eyes betraying no hint of boredom, anticipation, nor even dutiful attentiveness. As thoughtlessly hardworking as a bee, and just as bereft of individuality.


    Civorage sighed and stepped away, feeling once again the wrongness of these poor benighted creatures. Even to his experienced eye, there was not much to tell one nornfey apart from another. In fact, though they wore no clothing, it was even difficult to tell male from female: every one of the features which might otherwise have made it plain was¡­not absent, but rather so underdeveloped as to make discerning their status a more clinical examination than Civorage really wished to perform. They were as sexless as a dressmaker¡¯s form, and utterly unenticing to look at.


    Even the tattoos were marks of caste, rather than of personal identity. Nornfey didn¡¯t have personal identity. They didn¡¯t have a sense of self at all. Their minds, to Civorage¡¯s unique vision, were as completely peaceful as a barren, lifeless desert at night. They did not suffer. They felt no grief, no fear, no attachment or aversion, no longing, no ennui, not even boredom or pain. Whatever they did, they did wholly in the moment and in the zone, completely attentively and mindfully.


    That was Lady Iaka¡¯s gift to them: a total cessation of suffering, by removing any sense of ambition or desire from them. And it made them terribly useful. But it didn¡¯t make them happy, because they also didn¡¯t feel joy, satisfaction, warmth, comfort, closeness or accomplishment. They didn¡¯t feel anything. They had exactly as much emotional range as a worker ant.


    It was an¡­imprecise version of what Mind could achieve. The Oneness of the Circles was a blissful experience, one that left the individual intact but utterly fulfilled. A far superior condition to these wretches.


    Still¡­the Forsaken Herald had done her best with the tools available to her. And Civorage would refine the Nornfey and allow them to experience the joy of Oneness, once their usefulness in their current condition was obsolete. For now, having a cadre of elves who genuinely felt no fear and had no concept of disloyalty was exactly what he needed.


    Even when they brought him dismaying news.


    Dammit, Holten was ahead of him again! How many times must he have pulled back on time itself to achieve these reliable disruptions? Was he living lifetimes, watching and waiting to spy on Nils¡¯ next move only to undo it all and thwart him? Then there had been the heist on his Long Drop mansion. How many wrong attempts and failed loops must he have gone through while brute-forcing the safe combination?


    Strange. He didn¡¯t seem like a man with that kind of conviction and willpower. And Nils was nothing if not a good judge of character. Oh, Holten did have conviction and willpower, certainly, but on the scale necessary to endure subjective centuries of hardship and perseverance?


    No. Not on that scale. Perhaps¡­


    He stood and stroked his moustach as he considered the distant mountains, far below, and chuckled bitterly to himself. The hag-thaighn¡¯s bloody curse. He¡¯d felt it the moment she cast it, that infuriating night. Bitter and foul in the mouth, like spittle in coffee. May thy victories be sulled, may thy worst foes escape your wrath, may ye ever snatch defeat frae the jaws o¡¯ victory.


    So it had been for eight years. Everything, everything had to be perfect, or there was inevitably a setback. The slightest overlooked detail was the weak point through which disaster leaked. Nils had won many victories in the years since the hex of course¡­but he¡¯d only achieved them through achieving perfection in planning and execution, by making defeat entirely impossible.


    Now that there was not one but two other Wordspeakers opposing him, that could no longer be guaranteed. The enemy got a say. And that fact alone introduced enough imperfection that he could feel things slipping away. Dammit. There wouldn¡¯t be another opportunity like this to ransack the Thundering Hall for its store of obscure lore for years. Yngmir had to be distracted by a long and deep eclipse for any heist to be plausible. And without the heist¡­he was no closer to finding Spirit.


    Without Spirit, he¡¯d never break the hex. He¡¯d exhausted every option shy of that, and all of them had failed. Thaighn Saoirse¡¯s dying work of witchcraft had been overwritingly powerful, scrawling his failure into the very fabric of reality on some fundamental level. The only force more powerful was a Word. If he never broke the hex, defeat was inevitable.


    And even if he did somehow find Spirit somewere out there¡­his plan to claim it would have to be utterly flawless. Which would only be possible if he found it soon.


    He realized he was gripping the rail so hard his hands creaked.


    ¡°¡­No matter,¡± he said, turning back to the elf. ¡°We just need to change tactics.¡±


    He let the idea he¡¯d had flow into its mind. The nornfey nodded, its blank expression utterly unchanged. Then it vaulted the rail, sprang nimbly into the single-passenger launch, and zipped away to return to the scouting party¡¯s forward camp.


    Nils sighed heavily, and retired to his cabin for a snifter of brandy to drive out the lower-worlds chill. Was it a perfect plan he¡¯d just devised? It seemed good. It seemed solid. But was it perfect?


    Only time would tell, he supposed. Time, and trying, and not giving up until the very last. Setbacks were not defeat.


    Not yet.


    <hr>


    <blockquote>


    The night the duchess vanished was a strange one. Across Auldenheigh, tens of thousands of people were abruptly roused from their beds without quite knowing why. The city¡¯s arcane literati, however, knew instantly that some immense work of magic had just been performed, though its exact nature, or which superlative master of the Art had performed it remained unknown. And the mystery only deepened in the morning when the night¡¯s Eclipse cleared, and the Duchess Ellaenie¡¯s apartments in the ducal palace were found to have been blasted open from the inside¡­ Of the duchess herself, there was no sign. ¡ªMillis Lemrey, The Fall of the Dukes


    </blockquote>


    <h2>Above the rooftops</h2>


    Auldenheigh, Enerlend, Garanhir 09.06.03.10.06


    ¡°It¡¯s¡­just like I remember it¡­¡±


    Somehow, that observation made Ellaenie feel much more off-balance than if they¡¯d come swooping down out of the clouds to see the familiar skyline utterly transformed. Civorage had consolidated his tight grip on the whole continent, so she¡¯d been expecting¡­what? Monuments to his glory? Parks paved over? Familiar landmarks torn down and replaced just to demonstrate the new order of things?


    All of the above, on some level. She¡¯d expected Auldenheigh to be unfamiliar now, but really the changes were quite subtle. There were more airship towers along the line of the river, and most of the ships moored at them bore the blue and white stripes of the Clear Skies guild. Here and there across the city, Ellaenie could see the lit rings of Circle communes.


    More troublingly, she could see low-flying airships, playing searchlights down the streets. In the dark, their blue and white bags were as ominous as stormclouds.


    But the single most visible symptom of the Oneist regime was a monster parked over the downstream docks, a ship big enough for other ships to lurk under. The Ring of Eternity. A flying Circle in her own right, crewed entirely by the Controlled, and bristling with weapons that would never have been allowed anywhere near the city under Ellaenie¡¯s reign. Firepower like that could burn whole districts.


    It was a reminder to everyone below of just who was in charge. And a reminder to Ellaenie of the reprisals Mrs. Fontan¡¯s Salon might trigger.


    ¡°Won¡¯t they see us?¡± she asked Dragon. She had a mental image of those ranked cannons sending a fusillade at them.


    Not if I do not wish them to. We are quite invisible, I promise.


    Ellaenie accepted that with a nod. Everything about Dragon radiated intense magic, from the enormous power that let her glide through the air without wings, to the way the screaming wind of her top speed didn¡¯t blast Ellaenie and Gilber right off her back.


    Dragon dipped, nosed down, twisted back on herself and corkscrewed downward toward¡­yes, that was Broadwalk.


    Thank goodness, the curfew they¡¯d feared the Oneists might impose had never yet been implemented. The streets were still lit, and populated by those whose business took them abroad after dark. Porters, delivery wagons, bakers, late-arriving ship crews, the constabulary. None of them glanced up as Dragon and Rheannach stooped in the air over a back alley, then down between the rooftops and laundry.


    Ellaenie would later struggle to describe the experience of sitting on Dragon¡¯s back one second, then standing beside her human form the next. Without quite being able to say how, she was safely deposited on the cobblestones, and then Dragon¡¯s titanic bulk was slithering down and in, and in and in, bending and twisting smaller and smaller to leave behind¡­


    She chose the form of a Yunei woman tonight, perhaps half Ellaenie¡¯s height and branded across the forehead with the Yunish characters for ¡°EXILE.¡± Still quite beautiful despite the brand, though. Her eyes flared forge-orange in the dark for a second, then faded to a normal human black-brown.


    Rheannach was equally discreet. As she folded her wings in and her raiment faded from view, she shook out the skirts of a working woman¡¯s dress in brown and blue, and let her hair fall as though she hadn¡¯t had time to properly brush it for a day or two.


    Ellaenie took a deep breath, focused, and looked about. The Sight was calm and still, and failed to draw her attention to any out-of-place detail. They were unobserved.


    They¡¯d landed a couple of streets over from the safehouse, perhaps a quarter mile. Nobody paid them any attention when they emerged out of the alleyway and into the main street, just a group of three young ladies being chaperoned on their way home by an older man. A group of Oneists in their white robes passed by going the other way and didn¡¯t even glance at them.


    The air was still changed, Ellaenie thought. Not that she¡¯d often roamed outside the ducal palace or the noble estates of the high city, but there was still some deep-rooted tension thrumming through the nighttime streets. The city was dissatisfied in a way that couldn¡¯t quite be identified, but certainly could be felt. To her Sight, it was like a deep and slightly out-of-tune bass note throbbing under the stones, in the postures of the people walking by, in the wary side-eyed attention they paid to the Oneists, and in the notices posted at every street corner and intersection.


    These should have seemed benign. They promised help to the weary, relief to the suffering, sustenance for the hungry. They promised purpose, community and fulfilment. They were beautiful sentiments on beautifully designed posters, full of the imagery of clasped hands, smiling faces, and open skies. The intended impression was clearly one of unburdening and freedom, yet they were redolent of something far more sinister.


    Of course, Ellaenie knew the truth of what being taken into the Circles meant. But it was clear the ordinary people could feel it too, even if they didn¡¯t quite know why. Several of the posters had been defaced in some way: smiling faces had been given a blacked-out tooth, an outstretched hand of friendship had been turned vulgar by the addition of an ejaculating penis, so that the poster was masturbating at the world. One just had the word ¡°BOLLOCKS¡± scrawled across it in black paint.


    Even as Ellaenie was looking at it, a group of three robed figures came running with freshly rolled papers and new paste to replace the graffitied items. She looked away, and followed Gilber down a side street, then another street, then an alleyway, to a plain wooden door with a brass knocker. Gilber paused and scrubbed his boots on the doormat¡ªa pretense that let him check up and down for spies¡ªthen reached up and knocked in a precise sequence.


    Rat-tat, tat, ta-tat!


    A skinny, wiry man with tattooed hands, whose missing teeth gave his face a shrunken aspect, opened the door, then grinned gummily and welcomed them in. The house beyond was¡­middle class. The furniture was solid and well-made without ostentation, the floor was carpeted, the hearth smelled of good cedar firewood rather than the peat and coal burned by the working classes.


    The men gathered around it, on the other hand, were of a much rougher cut, just like the man who¡¯d opened the door for them. They were as roguish a collection of flat-capped ruffians as Ellaenie had ever laid eyes on in her life, many of them bearing prison or army tattoos (or both) on their knuckles, hands, forearms and even faces, and each assessing her with the calculating gaze of a career scoundrel.


    All of these things Ellaenie noticed at a glance. But somehow, it took her a second to recognize her oldest friend standing in the middle of the room. When she did, she squeaked her delight and rushed forward to bury herself in Adrey¡¯s hug for the first time in years.


    Adrey had changed so much. She¡¯d always been tall and well-built, but the body Ellaenie found herself hugging was hard and strong where it had once been soft and womanly. Her hair was different too: gone were the long, buoyant curls she¡¯d worn as a Lady-In-Waiting, to be replaced by a close-cropped cut so short that her scalp showed through on the sides. It was a middle-class affectation, a haircut designed to allow the ladies who wore it to don wigs in whatever style was newly fashionable. Ellaenie and Adrey had never needed it before: as Duchess and Countess, they¡¯d been the fashion-setters, not its followers.


    Somehow it suited her, though. It made her cheekbones stand proud, and sharpened her features¡­or was that the change in her mindset?


    Maybe. Adrey Mossjoy was a very different person to who she¡¯d been the last time Ellaenie had hugged her. But for a moment, the old Adrey was back as she returned the hug with long-missed sisterly affection.


    Ellaenie wondered just how different she herself must be to Adrey¡¯s eyes.


    ¡°Oh, Ellie¡­¡± Adrey kissed the top of her head. ¡°Crowns, I¡¯ve missed you.¡±


    Ellaenie nearly wept. She didn¡¯t, though. She choked it back, gave Adrey a big squeeze, then stepped back. ¡°Letters just aren¡¯t the same, are they?¡±


    ¡°Especially not when they¡¯re coded.¡± Adrey shook her head. ¡°¡­Look at you. You¡¯ve¡­changed. It took me a second to know it was you.¡±


    ¡°So have you. It took me a second as well.¡±


    ¡°Mm. We¡¯re no longer a Duchess and her lady-in-waiting, are we? We¡¯re a witch and a spy.¡±


    ¡°Has it been dangerous?¡± Ellaenie asked, concerned. Though, she already knew the answer. To her Sight, it was written in every line of Adrey¡¯s body: yes it had, but Adrey was dangerous herself nowadays.


    ¡°A few close calls.¡± Adrey shrugged lightly.


    ¡°¡­Right. We¡¯ll have time to discuss it later. For now¡­¡±


    Adrey nodded tightly. ¡°Right now, we have Lizzy to worry about.¡±


    ¡°Yes. But first, I have news that might change some details of Mrs. Fontain¡¯s Salon. Could you give me a knife, please?¡±


    Adrey arched an eyebrow at her, then¡ªCrowns. It just appeared in her hand. Not even Ellaenie¡¯s Sight let her catch exactly where it had come from, or when Adrey had drawn it. She flipped it over easily in her hand and presented it to Ellaenie grip-first.


    ¡°Careful. It¡¯s razor sharp.¡±


    Ellaenie took it in her right hand, beamed sweetly at her, then stabbed herself in the left palm as hard as she could. It didn¡¯t even feel like a pinprick: the knife skittered off as though she¡¯d tried to drive it into an anvil


    Adrey¡¯s reflexes were incredible. She¡¯d very nearly caught Ellaenie¡¯s wrist to stop her mid-stab. A squeak of alarm escaped her mouth, before turning into a faint choked noise of sheer confusion. Around the room, Mister Skinner and the other men had leapt to their feet as well.


    ¡°¡­What¡­?¡± Skinner asked.


    ¡°I don¡¯t have time to tell the full story. But I¡¯m a Wordspeaker now.¡± Ellaenie stabbed at herself a few more times to make the point, then noticed she¡¯d blunted and notched Adrey¡¯s dagger. She pinched its edge between thumb and forefinger, ran them down the blade to smooth the metal back into its keen former edge, then handed it back. ¡°I¡¯m still figuring out the full extent of what it can do, but¡­I seem to be bladeproof. And probably bulletproof.¡±


    ¡°¡­Well, that¡¯s handy,¡± Adrey ventured, with commendable poise. She inspected the dagger, pursed her lips thoughtfully, and then slid it up her sleeve, back into whatever sheath had previously held it.


    ¡°Rest of us aren¡¯t, though. So I reckon t¡¯ plan¡¯s unchanged,¡± Skinner commented, then tugged at where his forelock had presumably once been when Ellaenie glanced at him. ¡°Beggin¡¯ y¡¯pardon, y¡¯Grace.¡±


    ¡°No, you¡¯re quite right,¡± Ellaenie agreed. She fished in her satched and produced a handful of glass vials. ¡°Here. We¡¯ve tested these, and they¡¯ve proven their power to break Civorage¡¯s hold over the Encircled, and to deaden even a Herald¡¯s psychic senses. They should keep us safe from him, and if we can feed a dose apiece to the Circle members¡­¡±


    ¡°¡¯Tis a big circle, y¡¯Grace,¡± Skinner pointed out. ¡°Nigh on four thousan¡¯. Unless y¡¯grace¡¯s satchel is a lot bigger on t¡¯ than inside than on t¡¯ out¡­¡±


    Ellaenie nodded grimly. ¡°I assume you have a plan for dealing with so many?¡±


    ¡°Ay, that we do, y¡¯Grace. Lemme show ye.¡±


    He gestured toward a table, on which he unrolled a map and pinned it at the corners with cups and books. It was a detail plan of the Circle compound, its ring-shaped outer wall, inner courtyard, and clear labels of various parts of the commune: dormitories, kitchens, library, workshop, exercise yard¡­


    He tapped one tough and much-bitten nail down on a spot on the outer wall. ¡°Sentries on t¡¯walls all hours o¡¯ day and night.¡± he said. ¡°Dogs, too. If t¡¯weren¡¯t for Civorage an¡¯ ¡®is power, it¡¯d be easy enough. Knife a few men on the walls, poison the dogs. We do that here, an¡¯ the alarm¡¯ll be up an¡¯ we¡¯re fightin¡¯ t¡¯whole Circle.¡±


    He moved his finger and tapped a different spot. ¡°Water comes from a well here. No gettin¡¯ to it, so no druggin¡¯ em.¡± Tap. ¡°They do their own laundry, so no sneakin¡¯ in the servants¡¯ entrance.¡± Tap. ¡°An¡¯ they grow their own food, or get it delivered from Circle farms out in t¡¯countryside, so no hidin¡¯ in the grain sacks. Place is locked up tight, an¡¯ there¡¯s an airship patrol. Means there¡¯s no way to do this quiet¡­so we don¡¯t do it quiet. We do it so loud, so hard an¡¯ so quick, they dunno which side they¡¯re gettin¡¯ hit from, or how.¡±


    He looked around the room, then waved an introductory hand from Ellaenie to the other men. ¡°These lads are t¡¯ Pickler¡¯s Lane Particulars.¡±


    Ellaenie gave them a smile as a variety of callused and tattooed hands¡ªsome of them missing a finger or two for good measure¡ªtugged at forelocks or tipped flat caps to her. She ran her Sight across all of them and blinked at what she saw. These were rough men, men with real monsters rattling the bars in their souls, but every single one of them had successfully collared and chained it.


    One older man in particular didn¡¯t tug his forelock, but straightened his back and gave her the most razor sharp parade-perfect salute she¡¯d ever received.


    ¡°And you are?¡± she asked him.


    ¡°Sapper Jem Barriman, First Heighlenders, your grace!¡±


    Ellaenie brightened and smiled at him. ¡°My father¡¯s regiment!¡±


    Barriman nodded. ¡°Pleased t¡¯say I was with the Duke at Snake River, ma¡¯am.¡±


    ¡°¡­You were one of his dambreakers?¡±


    ¡°Lit the fuse meself, ma¡¯am.¡± Barriman¡¯s grin was infectious.


    ¡°We call ¡®im ¡®Blaster¡¯ Barriman,¡± Skinner commented. ¡°The Particulars are all good at makin¡¯ trouble an¡¯ gettin¡¯ away clean, ¡®specially if t¡¯constabulary are all busy wi¡¯ something on t¡¯other end o¡¯ town¡­which they will be, thanks to our friends on Her Grace¡¯s Constabulary.¡±


    Ellaenie smiled. ¡°Right.¡±


    ¡°So. We¡¯ll ¡®andle a nice big an¡¯ loud distraction for you. You¡¯ll ¡®ave¡­not long. An¡¯ if you want to get Lady Lisze out, you¡¯ll have to be bloody quick.¡±


    ¡°Do you know where she is?¡±


    ¡°Aye.¡± Skinner¡¯s finger tapped a spot in the women¡¯s dormitory. ¡°Right here.¡±


    Ellaenie leaned forward, then frowned as she read the label. ¡°¡­Maternity dorm?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s where the Circle¡¯s pregnant women sleep,¡± Adrey said, flatly.


    Ellaenie paused. ¡°Oh. Oh, Lizzy¡­¡±


    ¡°It is what it is, Ellie. She¡¯s had seven children these past eight years. She¡¯s¡­one of Civorage¡¯s favorites.¡±


    The disgust, sympathy and sadness Ellaenie felt on her friend¡¯s behalf condensed into a freezing cold knot of hatred. She stared at the spot on the map, then sniffed, drew her back straight, and nodded grimly. ¡°He¡¯ll pay for that.¡±


    ¡°In due course, yes,¡± Rheannach agreed.


    Ellaenie nodded, and looked to Skinner. ¡°Can we go tonight?¡±


    ¡°Tomorrow, y¡¯Grace. If we go tonight, we¡¯ll ¡®ave only four hours of darkness on a clear night. We go tomorrow, we¡¯ll ¡®ave ten an¡¯ it¡¯s forecast for rain.¡±


    Ellaenie nodded, though she had no idea how she was going to tolerate a fourteen hour wait. ¡°What can we do in the interim?¡±


    ¡°Go over details,¡± Adrey said. ¡°Make our plans for when things go wrong, because they will. We¡¯ve planned this operation a long time, but there are still details to sort out. Starting, my dear Ellie, with your dress.¡±


    Ellaenie looked down at herself. She was dressed like a working woman, or so she¡¯d thought. hard-wearing linen skirts under a woollen overdress in dull hues of blue and brown. The sort of thing she would have thought nobody would glance twice at. ¡°What¡¯s wrong with it?¡±


    Adrey just smirked. ¡°Trust me. I know what I¡¯m doing¡­¡±


    Ellaenie blinked, then looked to Rheannach, who shrugged while Dragon smiled enigmatically.


    ¡°Alright, then¡­¡± she took Adrey¡¯s hand, Adrey curtseyed to the two heralds, and she was led from the room to undergo some modifications to her disguise.


    Adrey turned out to be right.


    She really did know what she was doing.


    <hr>


    <blockquote>


    ¡°Nobody pushed back. That¡¯s what scared me most. Nobody pushed back. The Church of the One demolished whole districts to establish their Circle, and no-one in power protested. The new Duke passed laws granting them the right to seize property, and no-one protested. Their armed airships started prowling the skies, and no-one protested. The newspapers were silent, the politicians complicit, the elected officials went along with it, and the nobility either ran away or became zealous converts. Only the common people grumbled. But anyone who tried to get organized would just¡­vanish. Or have a sudden miraculous change of heart. There seemed to be no hope of fighting back, so folk just got our heads down and waited for something to be done. And so, the Oneists took over. ¡ªRiccard Reymund, The Noose: Memoirs of an Ordinary Man¡¯s Life in Oneist Auldenheigh.


    </blockquote>


    <h2>The rainy streets</h2>


    Auldenheigh, Enerlend, Garanhir Earthmote 09.06.03.10.07


    As promised, the rainclouds came rolling in about mid-afternoon, and settled down with a sort of leaden finality. It wasn¡¯t the most dramatic weather Ellaenie had ever seen, but it was¡­solid. Workmanlike. The clouds were determined to get the city as thoroughly wet as possible, and came right down to street level to do their work.


    The raindrops turned the streets into streams, sluicing away the horse manure and dirt of passing feet while gutters and sills became steady columns of water, and the streetlights and window lights became blurred, sodden outlines. When the Oneists¡¯ patrol airships passed overhead, their searchlights did nothing more than make the fog glow for a moment, before the beam swept on to flicker over the river, the bridges, and the rooftops beyond.


    Ellaenie was damn glad for Adrey¡¯s alterations to her disguise. The waxed canvas raincloak and hood was doing double duty not only by keeping her dry, bu in further keeping her anonymity as well. But there were other details, as well. Adrey, it turned out, had whole wardrobes of clothes for every conceivable social class and occasion, but they all had a few things in common.


    Deep pockets, for instance, for ease of access to tools and weapons hidden under the skirts. Adrey in particular was wearing at least three knives that Ellaenie knew of: a long needle-like stiletto strapped to her thigh, a straight stabbing knife under her bodice and a short broad-bladed cutting cinquedea at the small of her back.


    And those were just the ones she¡¯d shown Ellaenie. There were others, certainly.


    But there were other details besides deep pockets. Like threaded pull-cords that let Adrey hike her skirts up for action with a quick tug and tie. Some very light chainmail and thin plate incorporated into her corselet and bodice, and her shortgown and outer petticoat were held in place by magnets, allowing her to rip them off and discard them in seconds for an instant change of outfit. She even had a small pistol hidden up her sleeve, loaded into a conraption of springs and levers that would deliver it instantly into her palm if she thrust her hand out just so.


    ¡°It only shoots two quite small bullets,¡± Adrey has commented after demonstrating, ¡°but they¡¯ll kill a man quite painlessly if I get him in his brains.¡±


    Ellaenie had been a little chilled by this comment. Her friend really had changed, quite a lot. Or¡­no. She¡¯d awoken and cultivated something that had always been there in potential, but simply irrelevant in the life of a countess. With the Sight, it was as obvious as the rain that she was a killer, somewhere deep in her soul. If they had to take lives tonight, Adrey¡¯s hand would be swift, assured and certain, and her conscience would remain untroubled.


    To think we would never have known this about her, had life gone otherwise¡­


    To stay out of the rain and as further protection against the eyes and lights in the sky, they had stuck to the shelter of an arcade sidewalk and a covered market as they worked their way downriver toward the Circle. Now, it was looming in front of them, imposing and alien.


    It didn¡¯t fit the rest of Auldenheigh¡¯s architecture at all. The buildings all around Ellaenie on every side were two or three storeys, with high gabled rooftops made interestingly uneven by belvederes and chimneys, and their stone frontings decorated by wrought iron balconets.


    The Circle was just a circle. Smooth and utterly unadorned, a perfectly round wall with a perfectly smooth outer surface and a perfectly round gate facing the river. A band of white glass just below the parapet smeared out the light of the electric lamps hidden behind, so that the perfectly circular path that ran around the wall¡¯s base was cleanly and uniformly lit.


    It was the aesthetic of an absolute minimalist. No doubt its architect considered it the height of intellectual simplicity and purity: Ellaenie thought it was soulless. To think that dozens of characterful, interesting properties along this stretch of the river had been purchased (at best) for the sake of being torn down and replaced with this¡­


    That was offensive enough. To think that Civorage¡¯s ultimate aim was to convert the entire city into Circles made her shiver.


    Focus, Maiden Mine.


    Ellaenie glanced at Rheannach, then checked her pocket watch. She¡¯d been given one by Skinner, who¡¯d explained they were all made to an exacting standard by the same watchmaker, and he¡¯d synchronized them. They had five minutes before the Particulars launched their distraction.


    She nodded at Rheannach and steadied herself. Focus. There was more on the line than just Lisze¡¯s freedom. This whole mission would have been unconscionable if that was the only outcome. Endangering so many men and their carefully cultivated resistance of network for just one woman? No leader worthy of the name would condone such an operation.


    No. They were here to break the Circle. To prove that it could be broken. To show the people of Auldenheigh that there was resistance, that somebody was fighting back.


    To give them hope.


    Two minutes to go. With an eerily steady hand, she slipped her potion vial from her bocket and knocked it back. Around her, Adrey, Skinner and the Heralds did the same. The magic wrapped around them like silvery threads, enshrouding and armoring their minds. It was probably redundant now that Ellaenie was a Wordspeaker herself¡­but why leave anything to chance?


    One minute. The airship patrolled over once again, and Ellaenie grit her teeth as the edge of the light it cast came within a whisker of the hem of her cloak. She fought down the urge to snatch her cloak back. Stillness was her friend, movement was a giveaway. Be brave.


    The ship moved on in silence.


    It was directly above the Circle when the first bomb went off.


    <hr>


    <h2>Makin¡¯ Mayhem</h2>


    Auldenheigh, Enerlend, Garanhir Earthmote 09.06.03.10.07


    Winter¡¯s tits but it felt good to be fighting back!


    Jem Barriman had spent most of his life blowing stuff up, one way or another. He¡¯d been the terror of Badridge Row with his various hidden surprises, and looking back it was a miracle he hadn¡¯t blown the fingers off poor Mrs. Trend with what he¡¯d done to her compost bin¡­


    The army had found a troublemaker, and turned him into a sapper. Castle walls? No problem. Trenches? Just a pre-dug grave for the poor buggers in it. Dams?


    Well, the ol¡¯ Duke had known just fine that a dam was really just a fuckova lot of water waiting to be dropped on some poor sod¡¯s head. The Battle of Rio Serpiente had been Jem¡¯s most spectacular moment¡­up until tonight.


    Tonight was his soddin¡¯ masterpiece.


    See, the art of demolition wasn¡¯t to use more explosive, it was to use just the right amount in the right place. One stick of blasting gelignite could do what a whole cannonade couldn¡¯t, if you found exactly the right weak spot to wedge it in.


    If the weak spot was, for example, right in the middle of a stack of stolen fuel barrels, hidden on the rooftops among the chimneys of an abandoned house¡­it could even bring down airships. All you needed then was to be good with timing the fuses.


    Jem was very, very good with fuses. The bomb couldn¡¯t have gone off more perfectly, detonating exactly as the bowsprit was directly above.


    The fireball was vast, despite the rain. It unfolded into the sky like a mushroom, boiling and writhing like a living thing before splashing into the Oneist patrol ship¡¯s keel and rolling up either side of its belly to scorch the crew, torch the rigging, burn the bag¡ª


    The panicked shouts and screams of agony were music to an old sapper¡¯s ears. But the drums of that music were the gunshot cracks of ropes snapping. The airship groaned like a bull being slaughtered as the flames caught in the dry bag-belly, then¡ª*crack, crack, cracka-crack-brrrrack!!¡ª*The rigging failed with a sound like a gun-line letting the lead fly.


    The deck tipped, dropped, and flipped, spilled shrieking men into the air and then parted ways with the bag in a second series of gunshot cable failures. The bag, still ablaze, shot away into the sky to vanish among the clouds.


    The hull dropped heavily onto the abandoned buildings in a shower of brick, tile and timber. With a splintering crunch, its keel broke and the whole ship came apart in the middle: the stern wedged itself in the rooftops, but the prow came tumbling down, turned a half-somersault in a rain of debris, and then smacked down into the river with enough force to raise a new rainstorm.


    ¡°Hooooly, fuck!¡± one of the Particulars whispered in the dark.


    ¡°Fuck me upside-down, Blaster,¡± Skinner murmured. ¡°I¡¯m glad you¡¯re with us.¡±


    Jem just grinned. ¡°Steady now¡­¡± he reminded them.


    ¡°Aye. Weapons up, lads.¡±


    They were armed with pistols, mostly. Saboteurs needed small and concealable weapons, though Mack ¡°Trapper¡± Takes, a former poacher, was holed up down the street with his Fir-Mackley rifle, and that was a weapon that could shave the hairs off a spider¡¯s back from a mile away, in skilled hands.


    Sure enough, the Circle¡¯s guards came running. And the Particulars knew exactly how this act played out. Patience, discipline, restraint¡­


    And, when the moment came, a ruthless hail of precise gunfire. A dozen men died in the span of three seconds, poor bastards.


    Skinner thumbed replacement rounds into his revolver and gestured sharply. ¡°Alright. Move.¡±


    They retreated. The streets were eerily silent now, somehow Jem had been expecting alarm bells or something from the Circle, or the sound of shouting. But of course, the Circle didn¡¯t need bells or voice. And the constabulary were all, in theory, busy across town.


    They fell back, set up another ambush. This time, the Oneists came in force with rifles.


    This time, Jem had set more bombs.


    When the dust cleared and the shooting stopped, they slipped away into the rain. They¡¯d done their bit, created a huge distraction and drawn out the guards.


    Now it was up to the Duchess, the Countess and the Heralds to finish the hob.


    He wished them luck and slipped away into the night, flush with the thrill of a job well done.


    <hr>


    <blockquote>


    ¡°You would see an old friend wearing the white robes sometimes. Or an acquaintance, a cousin, a former coworker, neighbours, or just the shoe-shine boy who used to be on the street corner. At least, you¡¯d see a Oneist with his face. But he wouldn¡¯t be the man you knew. He would smile blissfully at you and tell you how happy he was. And he would give you the brightest, most blissful smile. Every time, the nameless dread that crawled across my skin made me want to flee for my life. I wanted to take my family, get out of the city and find somewhere safe. But of course, I didn¡¯t have a travel pass. And where would I have gone? ¡ªRiccard Reymund, The Noose: Memoirs of an Ordinary Man¡¯s Life in Oneist Auldenheigh.


    </blockquote>


    <h2>Rescue</h2>


    Auldenheigh, Enerlend, Garanhir Earthmote 09.06.03.10.07


    The second bombs were their cue to act. The sentries up on the walls had already run off toward the crashed airship, and the coast was clear. Rheannach grabbed Ellaenie from behind, beat her wings once, and carried them across the open ground in a matter of seconds: beside them, Dragon did the same for Adrey.


    The wall towered above Ellaenie¡¯s head, smooth and dull and ominous. She put a hand to it and concentrated, working her thoughts deep into its mortar, brick and plaster. Felt it fizzing with binding forces. The Word came to her easily, effortlessly: all she had to do was focus her will, and a seven-foot circle of wall dissolved into fine sand. With a gesture, she scooped it all out of the tunnel she¡¯d made, and Rheannach slipped in ahead of her, furling her wings and drawing Scorn.


    There were guards in the room beyond. While the dozen or so women scrambled away from the tunnel Ellaenie had opened, they drew stout cudgels and charged, intent on hammering back the intruder.


    Scorn flashed twice in the gloom. And the nature of Rheannach¡¯s sword was this: it only killed when she wanted it to. Otherwise, it could slash right through a man¡¯s heart without leaving a mark on him, and send him instantly and painlessly into a dreamless sleep from which he would not awake until Rheannach released him.


    In an eyeblink, Rheannach was at the door, preventing the Oneist women from running. Adrey was next through. She straightened and looked around, then beckoned Ellaenie through.


    Ellaenie recognized Lisze instantly. How could she not? In fact, she was surprised by how well she seemed. She¡¯d expected seven pregnancies in eight years to have ravaged Lizzie¡¯s looks and figure, but her old friend looked quite healthy and trim. Not entirely unchanged, but far less wretched than Ellaenie had feared and anticipated.


    Her expression, however, was not Lisze at all. It was¡­bovine. The curiosity and fear of a barn animal, without understanding or thought behind it.


    There was no point in negotiation or persuasion here. She advanced toward her old friend, drawing a potion vial from her pocket and uncorking it with her thumb. ¡°Lizzie.¡±


    ¡°¡­Ellie.¡± A slight vapid smile of recognition. ¡°Hello.¡±


    Even her voice was wrong. The real Lisze wouldn¡¯t have been so¡­calm in a situation like this. Ellaenie shivered. She¡¯d heard those same dreamy tones the night Saoirse Crow-Sight died.


    Ellaenie focused the Craft down to a sharp scalpel¡¯s edge, looked Lisze in her wide, innocent, happy eyes, gripped one of her fetishes in her left hand, and drained all its stored magic to empower a single forceful command aimed right at whatever was left of Lisze¡¯s mind that might still remember and trust her: ¡°Drink This.¡±


    Lisze¡¯s expression, somehow, got even duller and more unfocused. She put her hand out, took the vial, knocked it back and swallowed. For a moment, nothing happened.


    Then, with a shocked gasp, she fainted dead away. Ellaenie caught her and lowered her to the ground with care and tenderness, feeling a surge of relief. Part of her had worried that eight years was too long, that Civorage¡¯s power and control might have waxed beyond the point where her brew could do anything.


    The other Oneists backed away, shuffling their feet nervously, just like cattle watching something unfamiliar invading their paddock. Adrey did the rounds, grabbing each on firmly but not unkindly, tipping potion into her mouth, inducing her to swallow. It really was like medicating livestock. She dosed the two guards Rheannach had knocked out, too.


    ¡°Time¡¯s running short¡­¡± Dragon urged. ¡°We¡¯ve only got¡ªungh!¡±


    She grunted and flinched as the last Oneist, who¡¯d backed into the corner to try and stay away from Adrey, suddenly straightened her back and her expression changed. In an instant, she no longer had the wary affect of a sheep being medicated, but the proud bearing and sneer of¡­


    Of Nils Civorage.


    ¡°¡­I see¡­¡± even her voice dropped an octave, somehow. ¡°Oh, you came for your friend at last, Duchess. How touching.¡±


    ¡°We came to do a lot more than that,¡± Ellaenie replied, stooping. She lifted Lisze onto her shoulders with Word-enhanced ease, channeling her friend¡¯s mass aside and around her so that the burden she settled onto her shoulder felt as light as a feather bolster.


    ¡°¡­Yes, you¡¯ve done quite a number on this Circle,¡± Civorage commented, looking around. ¡°Killed many, torn my gift away from many others¡­it will take quite some time to rebuild.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re not here to talk,¡± Dragon reminded them. She strode across the room, grabbed Civorage¡¯s hapless vessel by the robes and hair, and tipped her head back. Civorage lashed out at her with a telepathic assault like an instant migraine, which Ellaenie felt slam into her like a wave¡­but she was a Wordspeaker, and she¡¯d taken her potion. It passed over, around and through her without drowning. Dragon and Rheannach were equally hardened.


    Adrey was the least protected. She staggered, her knee buckled and she leaned heavily on a bedpost for support. ¡°Get¡­out¡­¡± she groaned.


    Ellaenie reached out and touched her shoulder to fortify her with the Craft, but Civorage sensed weakness and redoubled his efforts.


    Only the potion and Ellaenie¡¯s support helped Adrey resist at all. But Ellaenie could taste the spiteful shape of his will as it crept over and dominated her. He couldn¡¯t Encircle her¡­but he could compel her to rob them of their prize. His every effort was bent on compelling Adrey to thrust her arm out toward Lisze¡¯s head, palm the little pistol, and shoot. A lesser woman might have done it, but Adrey fought back with a depth of will that was more than just Ellaenie¡¯s magical and alchemical support.


    Then the moment snapped. Rheannach had sprung forward with a vial and tipped it down his vessel¡¯s throat. She choked and coughed, trying to spit it out, but the hands of two Heralds clamped over her mouth and massaged her throat. She was forced to swallow.


    The fierce power of his will withdrew with shocking suddenness. But it hadn¡¯t gone far. Only as far as the next vessel, and they weren¡¯t far.


    Adrey gasped, relaxed, then pushed Ellaenie toward the tunnel as she regained her footing. ¡°Go. Go!¡± she rasped.


    Dragon withdrew out through the tunnel first. The coast was clear: she beckoned Ellaenie out, and transformed. A river of golden scales extended away around the wall, and she ducked her head down low so Ellaenie could drape Lisze across her neck.


    Adrey was next out. She led those of the freed Circle members who were still conscious, though frankly they were barely more so now than they had been a minute ago. Stunned, confused and bewildered, two of them ran away into the rain before Ellaenie could call to them. The rest, she managed to guide up onto Dragon¡¯s neck until the Herald had no more room. One woman was heavily pregnant, within days at most of her labour, and her eyes were wide and wild with confusion.


    ¡°Go!¡± Ellaenie slapped the huge scaly flank in front of her, and Dragon ascended like a ribbon on the breeze to vanish into the foggy night.


    That left Adrey, Rheannach, and the two male guards, now awake and groggily looking around. There was a loud bang from inside the room they¡¯d just left as somebody struck the barred door, hard.


    Ellaenie turned and touched the wall. Focused. How had the wall been before¡­.? Ah. Yes.


    It reassembled itself in a reverse-shower of grit and gravel. She didn¡¯t do a perfect job¡ªshe had neither the time nor the inclination¡ªso her work left a clear scar on the wall¡¯s otherwise unblemished outer surface, a puckered spot where it was clear that masonry had briefly run like wax. But it was a barrier.


    Up above, and far too close for comfort, she heard the drone of airship engines getting closer. It was ringing its bell and blaring its horn. Any second now, Oneist marines would be coming down on glider wings and rope lines.


    But they were too late: the raiding party had won.


    She turned, put her head down, and ran.


    <hr>


    Gilber Drevin was waiting for them as they reached the safehouse at Broadwalk. He¡¯d been overseeing a small team in clearing the place out: this operation had burned it, for certain. Even now, the place was a hive of activity as the Particulars returned and immediately vanished out the door again with a pregnant woman in tow.


    There would time for smiles and congratulation later. Right now, the focus was on covering their tracks and making sure the Circle never hunted down their missing members. Even so, one look at his face told Ellaenie there was something troubling him greatly.


    ¡°Gilber?¡±


    ¡°Not the unqualified success we hoped for, I fear,¡± he said.


    ¡°A success, though?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°Good. What¡¯s the qualifier?¡±


    He glanced toward the back room, and Ellaenie¡¯s ears caught the sound of weeping.


    Lisze¡¯s weeping.


    A glance at Gilber¡¯s face confirmed they weren¡¯t tears of relief and gladness, either.


    Shit.


    She swept past him and trotted into the back room, where she found Dragon kneeling by a couch, upon which Lisze was curled up in a tight fetal ball and sobbing. One or two other women in Oneist robes were sitting with her, rubbing her back: the nearer one looked up and gave Ellaenie a wide-eyed, slightly confused look.


    ¡°You¡­I know you¡­¡± she said. She was the one Civorage had used for a mouthpiece, Ellaenie realized. slim and oval-faced, with long and straight dark hair.


    Ellaenie sat down, nodding, and added her own hand to try and comfort Lisze. ¡°Probably¡­¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re the duchess.¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°The witch.¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    The woman withdrew with an expression of disgust and anger, then frowned at herself as though she didn¡¯t know her own mind. ¡°I¡­why did you do this?¡±


    Genuinely taken aback by the question, Ellaenie blinked at her. ¡°You were¡­slaves,¡± she said.


    ¡°We¡­¡± The woman looked down at her round belly, then rested a hand on it, closed her eyes and shivered. ¡°I¡­yes. I¡¯m sorry. I feel¡­very confused.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s understandable. We¡¯ll get you somewhere safe. Somewhere they can¡¯t get you.¡±


    The woman nodded, and there was an unexpected silence: Lisze had stopped sobbing. Ellaenie looked down at her, and saw her friend staring up at her in wild bewilderment.


    ¡°¡­Ellie¡­?¡±


    Ellaenie smiled and stroked a blonde tress out of Lisze¡¯s face. ¡°Hey, Liz.¡±


    Lisze¡¯s stare got wider, then became abruptly desperate, rose into escalating panic. ¡°¡­No. Nonono, no, please, I can¡¯t¡ª! Send me back! I can¡¯t! Send me back!¡±


    She pounced on Ellaenie, grabbing her desperately, fighting her with mad strength, clawing and shoving and slapping. ¡°Send me back!!¡± she shrieked.


    Ellaenie raised her arms to ward off the flailing assault, though in truth she barely felt it. Lisze¡¯s blows and fingernails skipped off her Word-hardened skin like rain, but Lisze was strong, surprisingly so. When the other women tried to restrain her, she shoved them aside with manic power and continued to try and beat Ellaenie¡¯s face in. Her face was a mask of rage, betrayal, loss, anger, hatred¡ª


    Dragon put a stop to it: she touched Lisze in the middle of her forehead, and Lisze went cross-eyed, sighed faintly, and collapsed unconscious.


    A moment later, Rheannach and Gilber burst into the room. They gawped at the sight of Dragon gently laying Lizzy down on the couch again, then Rheannach darted to Ellaenie¡¯s side.


    ¡°What happened?¡±


    Ellaenie couldn¡¯t answer, try though she might. Words wouldn¡¯t come, couldn¡¯t force themselves around the hot, heavy leaden ball that had grown in her throat. Her heart felt like it had frozen solid. She¡¯d looked into her friend¡¯s eyes with the Sight and seen¡­


    And seen only broken wreckage. Pieces of the woman who had once been. But it had been too long. Eight years under Civorage¡¯s had broken Lisze completely, torn her down and replaced her with nothing but the Circle. By breaking that¡­


    ¡°We came too late,¡± she whispered, as tears sprang hotly into her eyes.


    ¡°No!¡± Rheannach turned her face away from Lisze and looked in her eyes. ¡°Don¡¯t give up on her now, Ellie. Not now you¡¯ve got her back. It¡¯ll be a long road, yes, but she can heal. You can heal her.¡±


    ¡°We owe it to her to try,¡± Adrey agreed. She¡¯d gently drawn Lisze¡¯s head into her lap, and was stroking her hair. Her own expression was sorrowful, but determined.


    ¡°But¡­¡± the woman Lisze had shoved away stood up carefully. ¡°I don¡¯t think you understand. It was¡­it was wonderful. We were¡­we were whole with each other. We were part of something beautiful. Now, it¡¯s¡­¡± she looked shakily around the room. ¡°I feel¡­cold.¡±


    ¡°And alone,¡± one of the others agreed.


    ¡°It wasn¡¯t real,¡± Ellaenie told them, fervently. ¡°It was just a lie to control you.¡±


    The first woman sniffed hard and nodded, but reluctantly. ¡°¡­Bloody good lie,¡± she said, with a helpless shrug. ¡°And Lisze¡­oh, she¡¯d already been there longer than anyone by the time I was pulled in. I don¡¯t know, your grace. A lot of me wants to go back, too¡­¡± her voice broke as she said it.


    ¡°Questions for later,¡± Dragon said, firmly. ¡°Right now, we need to smuggle you all out of the city. There¡¯s a safe place you can go. We¡¯ll figure out what to do for you after that.¡±


    The former Circle members glanced at each other, clearly uncertainly. But the first woman nodded, steeling herself. There was quite a personality under there, Ellaenie thought. A fighting spirit waiting to be remembered.


    ¡°What¡¯s your name?¡± she asked.


    ¡°¡­Mel,¡± the woman said after a moment, as if it took her a second to remember. ¡°I¡¯m Mel.¡±


    Rheannach took her hand and squeezed it. ¡°Well, Mel¡­I promise you, you won¡¯t be alone and cold. You¡¯ll have community and company, and you¡¯ll have freedom too.¡±


    Mel swallowed nervously. ¡°Freedom¡­I¡­I barely remember what that¡¯s like. We¡¯ll have to¡­make our own decisions again, won¡¯t we? About what to do, and when, and¡­¡± She paused and took a shivering breath. ¡°It sounds¡­difficult,¡± she said after a second.


    ¡°It is. But it¡¯s worth it.¡±


    Mel nodded. Ellaenie couldn¡¯t tell if it was a nervous nod, a firm convicted nod, or just numb agreement.


    ¡°We need to get moving,¡± Adrey quietly reminded them. She looked just as disturbed by Lisze¡¯s reaction as Ellaenie felt.


    ¡°Right,¡± Ellaenie agreed, and saw Mel nod numbly again. They bundled up, wrapped the forme Circle women in new clothing to disguise their robes, and Adrey bustled them out a back door, down into a wine cellar, and along a tunnel under the road to come up again in the back yard of another house two streets over.


    Ellaenie could see airships patrolling low, the beams of their searchlights sweeping street by street, alleyway by alleyway. If it wasn¡¯t for the Heralds, perhaps their smartest move might have been to hunker down indoors¡­but they had Dragon, and Rheannach, and enough space for the former to resume her customary grand size and form.


    Moments later, they were aloft and the questing airships were far below, none the wiser to their ascent¡­.or perhaps just unable to do anything about it. Ellaenie neither knew, nor cared. She held on tight to the slumbering figure of Lisze in her arms, and watched the city rolling away below. There was still a fire smouldering downriver where the airship had crashed by the Circle compound, but she could see the rain was conquering it. There would be much ado about the city in the morning. Perhaps it would inspire some hope and renewed resistance. That had been part of the point of doing this, after all.


    But as the clouds swallowed Auldenheigh and she lost sight of her home again, as she vowed to come back and strike again, and again, and again until the city and Enerlend and all of Garanhir was liberated¡­she looked at Lisze¡¯s face, still troubled in sleep, and wondered just how much of a victory they¡¯d won after all.


    And just how long, difficult, and painful the fight for her friend¡¯s soul was going to be.


    <hr>

 Chapter 17: Glimpses of the Future

    <blockquote>


    ¡°Now we come to the Nornfey, or ¡®hag elves¡¯ of the G?l Nornacha, the Cronewood on the Craenen earthmote of Manaar. No other group of elves is quite so shrouded in mystery or fear, and for good reason. Try as I might, I could not find a single instance of anyone claiming to have met or spoken with them, though I have read survivor¡¯s accounts from their attacks, and seen detailed sketches of an autopsy. What both reveal is that there is something disturbingly Shade-like about these twisted elves, and an unthinking violence to shame even the most bloodthirsty Supremacist Set. Avoid them at all costs. ¡ªDenrick Roth, Elves


    </blockquote>


    <h2>Up on the Hall¡¯s roof</h2>


    The Thundering Hall, St¨®rsteinn 09.06.03.10.03


    Someone had been watching them from the moment they first arrived, and it was driving Mouse as distracted as a piece of grit in his shoe that he could neither tip out nor find with his fingertips.


    Minds were big things. Through his extra sense of them granted by the Word, they extended some way outside the heads they supposedly lived in. They played across the walls and floor and scenery like searchlights, lit each other up by thinking about and communicating with each other, drew attention to things by paying attention to them. Every mind he¡¯d yet encountered was a constant strobing dance of focus and awareness, which unconsciously diverted around him unless he took the effort to be noticed.


    But the particular mind he¡¯d been hunting since disembarking from the Cavalier Queen was¡­small. Quiet. Dim, somehow. There was somebody spying on the goings-on around the Thundering Hall, but the illumination of their attention was a faint flicker, almost colorless. The effect was so feeble as to almost make Mouse question whether he was sensing it at all.


    Almost.


    Fortunately, the Thundering Hall was attended by what must be a platoon of roofers permanently engaged in the work of keeping its beams, cladding and shingles in good order, and they had left boards, ladders and ropes all over the Hall¡¯s roof. To Mouse, an experienced burglar, it was¡­well. He¡¯d walked down more awkward streets. An experienced second-storey man who bribed the roofers would be able to live full-time on a building like this, in any other city. There was certainly no shortage of hiding places.


    And that cut both ways, when dealing with an attention that seemed so¡­rarified. Mouse was worried that it wouldn¡¯t miss a trick, even his tricks. So, rather than rely on the Word, he fell back on a lifetime of thievery and skulking, and hunted.


    The quarry¡¯s spoor was incredibly subtle. It wasn¡¯t anything so overt as a footprint or a scrap of fabric snagged on a splinter. Instead, Mouse tracked them by the sense of what they were looking at, the way the ¡®searchlight¡¯ of their attention highlighted some things often, and some other things never. That narrowed down the sightlines. That narrowed down the hiding places. That narrowed down the¡ª


    He paused, then slipped sideways into the protection of a dormer. A moment later, the strongest scrutiny he¡¯d yet sensed from his quarry swept over where he¡¯d just been standing, followed a moment later by the softest of thuds as a figure emerged from a window right above him.


    It was an elf. A naked elf. Their skin was not just white, but translucent enough to see the veins, and stained black from fingertip to elbow, toetip to knee, scalp to collarbone. Nothing Mouse could see from his angle gave away any clue as to the figure¡¯s gender, and in any case that wasn¡¯t an important concern right now. It had a blowpipe in one hand, and was packing in the tufted end of a dart with the other.


    Mouse willed himself to fade into the background. I am not here. There is nothing worth looking at over here. I am just a pattern in the stucco¡­


    It worked. The elf¡¯s expression didn¡¯t change at all, but they lowered their blowdart and relaxed somewhat. They turned, reached back through the window, and retrieved a satchel.


    Mouse knew that if he let the elf go, he¡¯d never catch or track it. Elves could run at speeds an airship would struggle to match, even over the very roughest terrain.


    He darted forward.


    The elf somehow sensed him coming and tried to turn, tried to lash out with a fighting knife, but Mouse had the surprise, the momentum, and Mind on his side. His will flashed out like a fist in an alleyway brawl, stunning the elf so badly they dropped the knife, an instant before his actual fist cracked into their jaw.


    Elves were dangerous, but not tough, and the blow was as sweet as honeyed tea. The elf lost their footing and went tumbling and sliding down the shingles in a nasty series of crunches and breaking noises, leaving Mouse triumphant up on the rooftop with the satchel in his hand.


    He slipped back in through the window before anyone could come investigate and look up. Then, on the grounds that where there was one elf there might well be a second, he darted away through stacks and shelves crammed tight with small books, jinking left and right at random. He¡¯d probably get lost in the maze-like shelving, but the nice thing about being lost was, it¡¯d probably help him lose any pursuit, too.


    As it happened, though, he felt no further brush of attention or intent of pursuit. So eventually, he found a reading nook he deemed suitably private, threw himself onto a cushioned bench, and went digging through the satchel.


    ¡°Alright friend¡­let¡¯s see what you were trying to steal¡­¡± he muttered.


    Moments later, he had a very interesting answer.


    <hr>


    <blockquote>


    ¡°As anyone knows, a library is not just a pile of books. After all, what good is knowledge if nobody can access it, read it, and use it? A library is organized, structured and filed for reading, and offers rooms to read in. So it stands to reason that the Thundering Hall, the greatest library in the world, would have some of the greatest reading rooms. And indeed, the grand reading galleries are a sight worth traveling the worlds for all by themselves. But for my money, the smaller side rooms, warmed by crystal magestone hearths and lit by the Herald¡¯s own will and power, are better. A thinking man could spend the rest of his days reading in these tiny, cozy kingdoms, and it would be a life well spent.¡± ¡ªPrince Ruber of Valai, My Travels


    </blockquote>


    <h2>Up to date</h2>


    The Thundering Hall, St¨®rsteinn 09.06.03.10.03


    ¡°And that was it. I pulled time back, and here we are.¡±


    Derghan drained his tankard of mead and grunted uncomfortably. ¡°You know¡­I¡¯m starting to not like the idea that branches of my life have happened and, uh, un-happened.¡±


    ¡°Two branches, so far.¡±


    ¡°Only two, eh?¡± Derghan wiped his mouth. ¡°Well, that¡¯s comforting.¡±


    Jerl conceded his sarcasm with a small shrug. ¡°A lot of people died. It was a pretty vicious assault.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, don¡¯t get me wrong, I can¡¯t argue with using your powers to save lives. But it still freaks me the fuck out,¡± Derghan rose from the couch to pour himself another mead.


    ¡°I¡¯m more concerned by these four fallen Heralds,¡± Amir mused. He frowned at Sin. ¡°You must have seen them on the First Day?¡±


    Sin¡¯s expression throughout Jerl¡¯s recounting had been inscrutable, especially during the bit about the jubilee celebration and her¡ªBekhil¡¯s¡ªperformance in the Blood Spiral. Now, she shrugged at Amir. ¡°The First Day was¡­very confusing. We only stood in that arena for a few minutes, and then we were scattered all over the worlds. And frankly, the other heralds were a little overshadowed by Yngmir and Dragon.¡±


    ¡°I guess they would be,¡± Derghan said, sitting next to her.


    ¡°True¡­¡± Amir mused.


    Jerl shrugged. ¡°From what Haust told me, they¡¯re not Heralds any more. They¡¯re mortal now, just¡­very, very learned and powerful mortals who know more about magic than the entire Thundering Hall and Observatory combined. That makes them dangerous and worth thinking about, but what I¡¯m wondering is, why send Civorage here? What was he after?¡±


    ¡°And did he find it?¡± Amir asked.


    ¡°And why attack?¡± Sinikka added. ¡°Why slaughter? For the fun of it?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s his style. Civorage may talk a big and impressive line about the ¡®Peace of the Circle¡¯ and all that shite, but his go-to option for dealing with adversity is to kill rather than capture. He burned the Hall the first go-around, too. Assaulted it all-out with his fleet,¡± Jerl recalled.


    ¡°Hmmm¡­¡± Amir twisted his goatee thoughtfully between thumb and fingers.


    ¡°Steel for your thoughts?¡± Jerl asked him.


    ¡°Well¡­the thought I¡¯m chewing on goes something like¡­the only reason to destroy a library is to destroy the knowledge that¡¯s held there. And the only reason to destroy knowledge rather than steal it is because you already know it and, you want to be sure nobody else learns it.¡±


    The rest of them glanced at each other.


    ¡°¡­And a large chunk of the knowledge here is in people¡¯s heads,¡± Sin mused. ¡°But that¡¯s all the more reason to Encircle them, I¡¯d say.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t even know if he can, here. To people under Yngmir¡¯s protection.¡± Amir said. ¡°The heralds can shield minds, I daresay. But they can¡¯t raise the dead.¡±


    ¡°¡­Hm.¡±


    ¡°Sounds right to me¡± Derghan opined. ¡°Remember the witch-thaign¡¯s curse? Shit goes wrong for him, but dead folks can¡¯t pull off an upset. Could be, murder¡¯s the safest option for ¡®im.¡±


    They frowned, but none of them spoke up to object to that line of reasoning.


    ¡°Well at least going to the trouble to attack confirms there¡¯s something important here, nay?¡± Sin offered at length.


    Amir shook his head grimly. ¡°Unfortunately¡­that¡¯s not necessarily the case. Civorage is driven enough that he might just burn and slaughter this place in case it contains what he fears. The attack is not necessarily proof that what he¡¯s afraid of is actually here.¡±


    ¡°But if he¡¯s that desperate to be certain, why abort the raid when we strengthened the watch?¡±


    Derghan groaned and stood again. ¡°Red Lady¡¯s arse,¡± he grumbled, going to pour himself another drink. ¡°This shit¡¯s way outside my fuckin¡¯ wheelhouse¡­plans and schemes and feints and gambits and what-the-fuck-ever¡­¡±


    ¡°You¡¯d rather have a problem we could shoot, rakkan?¡± Sin asked him, looking amused.


    ¡°Wouldn¡¯t you?¡± Deghan shrugged as he uncorked the bottle. ¡°Whole thing feels like an engine with no gasket. We¡¯re missing a vital component, somewhere. And Civorage ain¡¯t dumb enough to let us know what it is, one way or the other.¡±


    ¡°True, yeah. Even if he¡¯s played his hand, we still have no idea what his cards are,¡± Sin agreed.


    ¡°Still, we¡¯re here until the Eclipse is over,¡± Jerl pointed out. ¡°We have time to think. Maybe if we go digging, something will turn up.¡±


    ¡°Or maybe not.¡± Derghan swigged straight from the bottle and turned around. ¡°What happens if not? What¡¯s our next move? Keep lookin¡¯ for the Words? Without knowing shit about them?¡±


    Jerl, whose arms were folded, drummed his right hand¡¯s fingers against his left elbow a moment in thought. ¡°Maybe,¡± he said eventually, with a shrug. ¡°And we do have one lead: the caves of Haptar Getesh.¡±


    ¡°Is that a premonition?¡± Amir asked.


    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t even call it a hunch.¡± Jerl shrugged again. ¡°I seem to be in a doldrum of sorts right now. As if¡­like Time is waiting for things to line up. But we may as well stick to the plan, and Haptar Getesh is the closest thing I¡¯ve yet seen to a lead. But we¡¯ve got time to search. Could be there¡¯s something else in here worth finding.¡±


    ¡°I shall certainly look,¡± Amir agreed. Somebody knocked on the door mid-sentence, then opened it before Jerl could say ¡®come in.¡¯


    Mouse gave him a little smirk and placed a couple of books¡ªsmall, slim volumes rather than heavy incunabula or manuscripts¡ªon the low table.


    ¡°You found what they were after?¡± Jerl asked, leaning over to hover his fingers over them. The books didn¡¯t even have any text on the cover, just plain leather bindings.


    ¡°I¡¯ve had this feeling of being watched ever since we got here,¡± Mouse explained. ¡°Caught a hag elf in the middle of stealing these.¡±


    Jerl grinned at him. ¡°Fuck, you¡¯re amazing.¡±


    Mouse smirked back. ¡°I know. But wait until you¡¯ve read it, yeah?¡±


    ¡°What are they?¡± Amir asked, learning forward. ¡°Journals?¡±


    ¡°I think the one on the left is. This one¡ª¡± Mouse tapped the one on the right, ¡°¡ªI can¡¯t make head or tails of. It looks like navigator stuff.¡±


    Amir arched an eyebrow at him, then opened the second book with interest. ¡°¡­Summer¡¯s beard. I haven¡¯t seen one of these since I studied at the observatory.¡±


    ¡°What is it?¡± Mouse asked.


    ¡°It¡¯s a rutter. The precursor to modern navigation charts. Back when people had to get around via wandering isles, there were navigators who helped them get where they were going using books full of these charts and schedules. It took considerable intelligence to plot any serious trip.¡± Amir shook his head admiringly. ¡°Modern navigation is much less of a headache.¡±


    Jerl meanwhile had picked up the journal. What he found in its pages left him frowning. There were many writing systems across the earthmotes, of course, though most of them shared a mixed common ancestry in Feydh lettering, and an educated man could often muddle through reading a foreign language. But there was one human society in particular who had, very consciously, scrubbed absolutely everything elvish from their culture, often going so far as to near-literally reinvent the wheel. They¡¯d certainly reinvented writing.


    He¡¯d seen Yunei characters before, of course. Especially the forehead brand of exiles like Ju-Wi. And he¡¯d even seen Yunei documents, which were printed neatly in orderly columns of a uniform squareness. He could, if pressed, recall the meanings of maybe¡­five or six?


    This was Yunei handwriting, done with quite a small and delicate brush. There was a certain elegance and flourish to it, but he may as well have been looking at a floral dish towel for all the information he could glean.


    ¡°So¡­we have the annals of, what? A Yunei traveler?¡±


    ¡°Going back to before airships, and therefore before the Empire closed its borders,¡± Amir said. ¡°And our hag elf friends were after it¡­¡±


    Jerl nodded. ¡°Does anyone around here read Yunei?¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re in the Thundering Hall. If not here, where else?¡± Amir stood up. ¡°I¡¯ll find somebody.¡±


    ¡°Thanks. The rest of us should probably set up a watch, just in case Civorage hasn¡¯t entirely abandoned his plans to assault the place.¡±


    Derghan and Sin nodded at that, and rose in unison. Jerl tried not to smile. The two were clearly actually acting on their mutual feelings (at long last) but nobody was willing to actually say it out loud, lest it burst the bag. But it was obvious, to anyone who knew them.


    Now all he had to do was find somebody for Amir, though that project was greatly impeded by Amir¡¯s apparent lack of romantic or sexual interest in anyone at all. Even Lady Palasarli had failed to draw his attention.


    Oh well.


    ¡°What about us?¡± Mouse asked.


    Jerl dusted his hands off and rose to his feet. He was suddenly feeling quite energized.


    ¡°¡­Show me where the elf stole these from,¡± he said.


    <hr>


    <h2>Interlude: watching helplessly</h2>


    Crownspouse¡¯s guest wing, Sayf¡¯s Oasis 09.06.03.10.05


    It was a mark of how distracted Ellaenie was that she didn¡¯t even notice Palasarli¡¯s approach until a warm, tender hand slipped up around her shoulder to cuddle her, accompanied by a concerned kiss on the cheek. Pal was not the least bit inhibited about showing her affection with touch and lips¡­and Ellaenie needed it, right now. If Adrey was the older sister she¡¯d never had, then Pal was the more experienced friend everyone needed. She¡¯d been one of the rocks on which Ellaenie had built her new life these past eight years.


    ¡°How is she?¡±


    They were looking in through a section of wall that Ellaenie had turned transparent, but only in one direction. From the other side, it was just an ordinary wall, decorated with the mosaic tiles Sayf loved so much. Just one of the many miracles her Word could achieve. Inside the room, Lisze was asleep, or perhaps unconscious. She didn¡¯t seem able to stay awake for long. Being awake seemed to exhaust and traumatize her. She¡¯d just curl up in a tense, tight little ball and whimper until protectively shutting down again.


    Ellaenie shook her head miserably. ¡°Broken. Utterly broken.¡±


    Pal¡¯s hand moved, giving her a sympathetic stroke on the arm. ¡°Utterly?¡±


    ¡°¡­I hope not. I hope there¡¯s something¡ªI hope she¡¯s still left in there. Enough to fix. But¡­¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve only just started, Ellie.¡± Pal gave her a squeeze. ¡°It¡¯s too early for despair.¡±


    ¡°You never knew her before, Pal. She was¡­¡± Ellaenie paused to wipe away a tear. ¡°She had spirit! Adrey used to love to tease her, and she was easily shocked, but she¡¯d always laugh, and she had a perfect mind for fashion and how to dress for any occasion¡­and some pretty strong opinions about how we could play and push the limits and move the fashion in our own direction. The Lisze I knew would have retched at the thought of being a man¡¯s favorite breeding slave.¡±


    She sighed, and looked at the curled-up, shivering figure of her friend on the other side of the transparency. ¡°This isn¡¯t Lisze. There¡¯s hardly a fragment left of her. You might as well ask me to put back together a vase that was stuck in a barrel and rolled down a mountain.¡±


    Pal stood with her in silence and let her grieve for a minute. Then, she reached up and toyed with one of her favorite pendants, worrying it between thumb and forefinger for a moment before speaking carefully.


    ¡°I¡¯m reminded of something my mother told me.¡±


    Ellaenie frowned at her. ¡°¡­What¡¯s that?¡±


    ¡°I was¡­twelve or thirteen, I believe. A tricky age, when one is the daughter of a prostitute and growing up in a brothel. That was about the time I began to realize that people were starting to look forward to putting me on the menu, like a cut of tender young veal. After a little while, I started to enjoy the thought myself. It made me the center of attention, after all.¡±


    She worried her pendant a little more, then flashed a smile at Ellaenie¡¯s expression of restrained horror and discomfort. ¡°Girls that age are impressionable and foolish. Thankfully, my mother would have none of it. She told me I was better than that. That I was worth more than any man could pay. And she also told me something important about people. She said that if I sold away my virginity in a second-rank brothel, I¡¯d forever be a second-rank whore. No matter where I went or what I did afterwards, people would hold on to that knowledge. It wouldn¡¯t matter how much I grew or changed after that point, because people would always look at me and remember.¡±


    She smiled ruefully. ¡°I said that wasn¡¯t fair. She said ¡®fairness is the most dangerous delusion.¡¯ She told me that all we have is a decisions, the choice to be practical and deal with what is, or be foolish and deal with what we wish could be.¡±


    She turned to Ellaenie, quite serious now. ¡°It¡¯s not fair that your friend has been shattered. But giving in to despair because you¡¯re grieving for who she was is doing nothing for who she is, or who she could be. She won¡¯t ever again be the Lisze you remember, but she can still be someone, darling. You can still make something of that broken vase, and if you set your mind to it, you can help her be beautiful. Not the same. But beautiful nonetheless.¡±


    Ellaenie blinked back tears, feeling unexpectedly ashamed and stupid. But she nodded.


    Pal was a walking avatar of kindly sympathy, though. She smiled, and gave Ellaenie a squeeze. ¡°I wish you could just have your friend back, too,¡± she added.


    ¡°Another in the long list of things Civorage will pay for.¡±


    ¡°In the fullness of time, he will,¡± Pal said. ¡°I¡¯m sure of it. But here and now¡­¡±


    Ellaenie nodded, gave Pal a squeeze of her own by way of a thank-you, and started to think properly for the first time since coming back from Auldenheigh. Now that her refusal to see what was in front of her had been laid bare, she could plan appropriately. She could start making the right decisions on how to proceed with Lisze¡¯s care.


    And she was fairly sure she knew where to begin.


    It began with love.


    <hr>


    <blockquote>


    ¡°Among the many peculiar places I have visited, The Gate stands out for its bleakness, despite the grandness of the edifice for which it is named. It is through the eponymous gate that Yunei exiles are ceremoniously ejected from their homeland to languish among the lowest of the low¡ªforeigners. Where they go thence, the Yunei care not. For centuries, foreign diplomats have sat on the doorstep awaiting an embassy, and I suspect they shall be waiting forever. For them, it too is a form of exile: a career cubby hole where the incompetent are sent so they can do no real harm. This is, nevertheless, the only glimpse of the Yunei kingdom that a foreigner can realistically expect to see. If your intent is to visit every land, this is your destination. I cannot otherwise call it a worthy one.¡° ¡ªPrince Ruber of Valai, My Travels


    </blockquote>


    <h2>Nursing a headache</h2>


    The Thundering Hall, St¨®rsteinn 09.06.03.10.08


    Jerl¡­was not a scholar.


    He was no idiot, he liked to think. Decently intelligent, sure, or at least enough so to captain a successful freemerchant. But you had to have a certain kind of mind for the work of digging through books and translations and piecing together the information therein. Amir had that sort of mind, and was humming softly to himself, almost inaudibly but enough to let it be known that he was thoroughly enjoying himself. This was his element.


    Jerl, on the other hand, had started to feel like his head was being packed with wool within minutes of beginning their studies of the stolen book, and the problem had only gotten worse. After days of it, he felt uncomfortably like somebody had managed to cram an entire goat into his cranium, and it was no happier to be there than he was to host it.


    In theory, translating the Yunei language wasn¡¯t that difficult: each symbol had a very specific meaning, and there was a deeply rational approach to the way it had been constructed. According to Amir, when the first Transcendent Emperor had declared the creation of a system of writing entirely new and distinct from the elfish mode, one of his stipulations had been that it should be strictly and rigidly ordered.


    That was the Yunei through-and-through, from what Jerl knew of them. Everything properly ordered and set in its place. But in this case, it had worked beautifully. Each symbol was carefully designed to be its own reference code. Once you understood the system, you could look up the meaning in seconds if you had a properly sorted index¡­which of course, the Thundering Hall did.


    Too bad the effort to leave behind any hint of elvish influence had also resulted in a language that was backwards and upside-down.


    ¡°¡­Transcendent¡­fourth¡­and third¡­and second¡­the Emperor¡­uh¡­ideal? No, perfect. Came¡­to him¡­the hand¡­and third¡­and first¡­of¡­years¡ª¡±


    ¡°In the thirty-sixth year of the fourteenth Perfect Emperor¡¯s reign,¡± Amir translated, scratching it down.


    ¡°Wh¡ª? How¡ª?¡±


    ¡°Yunei count on their right hand, palm toward you, starting from the thumb. Each finger is worth two of the one beside it. So the fourth-and-third-and-second is eight-plus-four-plus-two: fourteen. A whole hand is thirty-one.¡± Amir paused, and blinked at the look they all were giving him. ¡°It¡¯s actually a very elegant system, once you understand it.¡±


    ¡°A base thirty-one counting system is elegant? Hmmph.¡± Derghan grunted, poring over his own excerpt from the book.


    ¡°Technically, it¡¯s a binary counting system.¡± Amir shrugged, and sipped his tea. ¡°It works for the Yunei, anyway. Carry on, Jerl?¡±


    Jerl concentrated, flipping back and forth through the dictionary they¡¯d found and sketching down the direct word-for-word translation. ¡°Uh¡­fifth-and-first?¡±


    ¡°¡ªSeventeen¡ª¡±


    ¡°Seventeen¡­bee meadows?¡± He double-checked, but it seemed to be accurate. ¡°¡­Yeah. Seventeen bee meadows, the belonging-to rune¡­earthmote¡­come¡ªno, arrive at¡­here¡¯s his name again¡­did¡­on the¡­the day, third-and-first many hands and third-and-second.¡±


    ¡°¡ªOn the hundred and sixtieth day of the thirty-sixth year of the fourteenth Perfect Emperor¡¯s reign, Yung-Fah Le arrived at the Earthmote of Seventeen Bee Meadows,¡± Amir clarified, writing down the translation.


    ¡°Ugh, Winter¡¯s tits¡­¡± Derghan muttered, shaking his head. Jerl couldn¡¯t quite tell if he was impressed by Amir, annoyed at the Yunei, or just in pain at this point.


    ¡°Seventeen Bee Meadows¡­¡± Sin traced a finger over their maps and charts. ¡°¡­Uh¡­gimme a minute¡­¡±


    ¡°Take your time. Go on, Jerl.¡±


    The translation had been going on in this painstaking vein for a couple of hours by now. They were reading the memoirs of Yung-Fah Le, an Imperial official of some sort¡ªa Magistrate, Amir guessed¡ªwho¡¯d gone on an extended tour of the outlying territories for the purposes of excise and a display of Imperial presence. The memoir had clearly not actually been written by Yung-Fah Le himself, but rather by an attending scribe, to judge by the extreme formality and third-person perspective. They¡¯d already got sick of reading out the man¡¯s full name and titles, which included such glowing epithets as ¡®The Judicious, Greatly Esteemed and Right-Thinking.¡±


    Then again, Jerl remembered, in formal contexts, Ellaenie would rightly be ¡°Her Grace the Duchess of Enerlend, Ellaenie of House Banmor, Crownspouse, Earl of Vathelan, Earl of the Heighlands, Baron of the Old City, Warden of the Unworn Crown, Guardian of the Vacant Throne, Steward of the Dukesmoot, Dame Most Learned of the most excellent Order of the Veil.¡± Pomp was hardly a uniquely Yunei invention.


    So far, nothing exciting had fallen out of it. But there had to be a reason the hag elf had tried to steal this particular document¡­


    ¡°Hmm..hold on.¡±


    Jerl looked up at Derghan. ¡°What?¡±


    Derghan stretched his back, then spun Jerl¡¯s reference book around with a finger and flipped through a few pages. ¡°¡­Here¡­gimme a¡­¡± his pen scribbled and scratched, and his tongue poked out the side of his mouth as he worked with his ruddy brows coming together in furious concentration.


    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    ¡°The great blahblahblah Yun-Fah Le, for tribute the blahblahblah Emperor¡­received, I think¡­yeah, received.¡± he held up a hand to stop Amir¡¯s unnecessary clarification and delved on. ¡°Ain¡¯t important. The words standin¡¯ out to me here are¡­script¡­light¡­.box.¡±


    ¡°Let me see that.¡± Amir moved around the table to peer around his shoulder. He frowned, took his own pen, scribbled a bit on Derghan¡¯s parchment, then straightened.


    ¡°Huh¡­¡¯He received from the people of the Earthmote, as was due, much suitable tribute for the Emperor¡¯ ¡ªmostly grain, soldiers and pigs, it looks like¡ª*¡¯and also treasures of great value and wonder. Among these¡¯¡­*eh, gold and silks and suchlike, but¡­yeah, here. ¡®A box adorned with script of light, that no man could open, which was an¡¯¡­.I think this word effectively means ¡®heirloom¡¯ of the¡­well. A regional noble. Quite a high-ranking one.¡±


    ¡°When was this?¡± Jerl asked.


    ¡°Oh, uh¡­fortunately, about the only thing the Yunei ever bother to communicate to the outside world is the ascension of new emperors, and emperors are the foundation of their calendar system¡­¡± Amir consulted a small reference book he was compiling on his corner of the table. ¡°Uh¡­let¡¯s see¡­we¡¯re on the¡­third Transcendent Emperor, now. I imagine there was a civil war they never bothered to tell us about, and a dynasty change¡­¡±


    ¡°So¡­?¡± Mouse prompted.


    ¡°One second, I have to look up the dates¡­¡± Amir flipped back and forth a few times, consulted yet another book, twisted his goatee thoughtfully between thumb and index finger, then nodded. ¡°This was¡­about a hundred and eighty, maybe a hundred eighty-two years ago.¡±


    ¡°So there¡¯s a Word in the Yunei imperial palace.¡±


    ¡°Possibly. We should read the rest of the memoir to be certain¡ª¡±


    ¡°Oh, Crowns. I can¡¯t take any more,¡± Jerl shook his head. ¡°I need to clear my head and get something to eat.¡±


    Amir paused then nodded, a touch sheepishly. Jerl almost laughed: it would be just like him to feel invigorated by all this, rather than drained. ¡°Ah. Yes. Good idea. We can come back to it with fresh eyes.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re gonna stay here, aren¡¯t you?¡± Mouse noted, drily.


    ¡°I¡­¡± Amir paused, then laughed at his own foolishness. ¡°I suppose I should take a walk and find something to eat,¡± he admitted. ¡°Ah, how long do we have until the eclipse is over?¡±


    Sin laughed, and gestured to the window behind him: clean, bright daylight was sleeting through the glass. ¡°Any second now, nay?¡±


    ¡°¡­Ah.¡±


    ¡°Yeah.¡± Jerl patted him affectionately on the shoulder and straightened up. ¡°Time for some fresh air and sunlight, I think. And I guess the Herald¡¯s gonna want a conversation now that he¡¯s free.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯d make life easier. He can prob¡¯ly read this damn journal at a glance,¡± Derghan grumbled.


    ¡°Mm. He won¡¯t, though,¡± Jerl shrugged. ¡°I think I¡¯m starting to get a read on Crowns and Heralds, and how they think. They¡¯ll give us only what we can¡¯t figure out for ourselves.¡±


    They filed out of the room. Sure enough, out in the Hall itself, the great doors were open, allowing the chill but fresh breeze to swirl in and blow out five days of stale air. Jerl sighed happily at the feel of it. Part of him was getting antsy to be back on the ship and sailing somewhere. If only they had somewhere to go.


    He gave voice to his thoughts as they strolled toward the doors. ¡°The problem I have is¡­okay, so the Yunei have a Word vault. So what? They¡¯re an entirely closed culture, it¡¯s not like we could just stroll into the Forbidden City and ask for one of the Imperial treasures.¡±


    ¡°If that¡¯s even where the vault is,¡± Amir pointed out. ¡°We haven¡¯t read the whole book yet, and it was written a hundred and eighty years ago. A lot can happen in that time.¡±


    ¡°Hmm. Civorage must be pretty desperate if that¡¯s the angle he¡¯s playing¡­¡± Derghan mused.


    ¡°Or arrogant.¡±


    ¡°Or he just knows that he could stride into the Palace, tell the guards to ignore him, order the Emperor to give him passage and the vault, and walk out again,¡± Mouse pointed out.


    ¡°¡­Ah. Yes.¡±


    ¡°Mhm,¡± Jerl nodded. ¡°Words change the rules. I daresay Mouse and I could pull off a heist from the Palace if we really wanted to.¡±


    ¡±If, indeed, that is where the Word is,¡± Amir repeated.


    ¡°Right, right. Point made¡­come on, let¡¯s take an actual break rather than just work in a different room.¡±


    The wandered into the Hall¡¯s kitchens where, as the Herald¡¯s guests, a selection of cold-cuts, cheese and bread was conjured up for them, to be washed down by a kind of tea flavored with the meadow flowers that grew around the Hall during its high months. They supped on a terrace out in the fresh air, surrounded by the sounds of the town airing out their rooms after days of confinement.


    No summons from Yngmir was apparent, and Jerl felt it would be impolite to hassle the Herald, so they returned to their work with clearer heads. There was still a lot to read and translate.


    But at least, at last, they had a lead.


    <hr>


    <h2>Fitful sleep</h2>


    Crownspouse¡¯s suites, the Oasis 09.06.03.10.08


    Ellaenie walks the streets of Auldenheigh, but they¡¯re different enough for her to instantly know she is dreaming. All the bricks and cobbles are circles, all the architecture is white and plain and smooth, all the lighting is hidden and indirect. The familiar skyline has been further corrupted by Civorage¡¯s aesthetic.


    This lucidity has happened before. According to Rheannach, it¡¯s all part and parcel of a witch¡¯s talents. Dreams are just a theatre for the mind, a way for the subconscious to say what it must. A good witch listens to her dreams, and even when aware that she is dreaming, she steps back and lets the dream play out as it will.


    She walks through the rain, toward the Circle by the river. But instead of approaching it, she turns aside at the Armory Bridge.


    There is a figure waiting there for her. A woman, remarkably tall and dark of hair, with healthy caramel skin and her hair drawn into a single centerline plait. When she turns, her face is staggeringly, impossibly beautiful, but her eyes are familiar: Wide, and as green as fresh olives. Ellaenie sees those eyes every time she looks in a mirror.


    As is the way of dreams, she does not speak. She could, but there is no speech in dreams, no legible writing, no clear communication. Everything is form and sign, innuendo and image. The language of the subconscious is unspoken¡­but unsubtle, once one understands it. This is Saoirse Sayfs-Child, Ellaenie¡¯s daughter, as she will grow up to be, perhaps. Delicate, slender, fragile¡­and immensely powerful. She turns, and points toward the Circle.


    When Ellaenie looks, the building is gone. Instead, there is a suppurating, festering wound. The city is Lisze, the ragged gouge where the Circle was is a terrible injury on her friend¡¯s body, on the cusp of turning septic and killing her. The warning of her subconscious is clear: Danger, danger, DANGER¡ª!


    ¡°Mummy?¡±


    Ellaenie jerked, and for a moment the dream and real life were one and the same. Little Saoirse¡¯s face was inches from her own, and the little girl¡¯s green eyes were wide and worried with concern beyond her years.


    ¡°¡­Mmm?¡±


    ¡°I had a bad dream.¡±


    Ellaenie relaxed. ¡°So did I, Pickle.¡± She scooted aside to make room in the bed for Saoirse to join her, the way she always did, but Saoirse shook her head and took a step back. Her little face was bunched in oddly mature concentration.


    ¡°But it wasn¡¯t a dream. It was me¡­¡± Saoirse frowned at herself, in the cute way she did when she was recalling when somebody had told her something and she was being asked to recall it afterwards. ¡°I said¡­I said ¡®go to her.¡¯¡±


    Something lurched in Ellaenie¡¯s gut. ¡°¡­Pickle¡ª¡±


    Saoirse¡¯s eyes widened. She looked scared.


    ¡°Mummy, you have to go to her. Right now.¡±


    Ellaenie blinked.


    Then she was out of bed and sprinting.


    She barely, barely made it in time. The door to Lisze¡¯s room was locked, but mere wood and metal couldn¡¯t stop her, couldn¡¯t have stopped her right now even without the Word. She burst through it, saw what Lisze was doing, thrust out a hand, shrieked ¡°No!¡± and the shard of broken vase in Lisze¡¯s hand fell apart in a shower of brown grit just as it broke skin, leaving behind only a shallow bleeding mark on the delicate skin of Lizzy¡¯s left wrist.


    Lisze turned hollow, empty, despairing eyes her way, and the unspoken question that, to the Sight, was as good as screaming, struck Ellaenie like a slap in the face: Why? Why can¡¯t you even let me die? I was so happy, and you¡¯ve taken that away from me, so let me be dead instead¡­


    Ellaenie rushed to her friend, threw her arms around her and held her tight. It was like hugging a statue. She couldn¡¯t even fool herself that the statue softened after a second.


    Adrey joined them a second later, led by little Saoirse, who let go of her hand and lurked in the doorway with wide, confused eyes, until Sayf came along and took her away.


    The next couple of hours were a blur. There was a long, difficult conversation that Ellaenie remembered little of, as it consisted of the same assurances over and over again. Promises of friendship, loyalty, safety, love¡­


    Perhaps it made a difference. More likely it was the sleeping draught she brewed that got Lisze to finally put her head down and sleep Adrey promised to stay and watch over her, but that was only a temporary solution, they both knew. Adrey had to go back to Auldenheigh, soon, if the war to reclaim the city, the duchy and the earthmote was going to make any progress.


    Ellaenie would have taken the duty herself, but she had the mystery of her daughter to investigate.


    She found her husband and their child sitting outside in the koi garden. They were sitting on the pool¡¯s walled edge and chatting in an oddly¡­adult way.


    Still, there was nothing adult about the way Saoirse beamed, bounced to her feet, and ran over to be scooped up and held. ¡°Mummy!¡±


    ¡°Hi, Pickle.¡± Ellaenie gave her a squeeze.


    ¡°Is Miss Liz okay?¡±


    ¡°She is. Thanks to you, my clever little wonder¡­how did you know?¡±


    Saoirse blinked at her. ¡°I told me.¡±


    ¡°¡­That doesn¡¯t make a lot of sense to me, Pickle.¡±


    ¡°I was dreaming, and I saw me, and I said to come wake you. So I did.¡±


    Ellaenie looked to her husband for help with this, only to catch him chuckling to himself. ¡°Clearly I¡¯m missing something here,¡± she said.


    ¡°Did you really think any child of ours wouldn¡¯t manifest some interesting talents sooner rather than later?¡± Sayf asked, clearly pleased. ¡°Jerl could have told you more. He sensed it on her instantly.¡±


    ¡°¡­Something to do with Time? I dreamed of¡­¡± Ellaenie looked her daughter in the eye. Her own olive green eyes set in Sayf¡¯s caramel skin. ¡°I dreamed of you all grown up.¡±


    ¡°Yeah!¡± Saoirse nodded.


    ¡°Do you dream about yourself all grown up¡­a lot?¡±


    ¡°Uh-huh!¡±


    Ellaenie turned to Sayf and frowned. ¡°¡­Time? Could it be she speaks the Word herself, sometime in the future?¡±


    Sayf shook his head. ¡°Time is linear, and the future doesn¡¯t exist. If Time could allow retroactive influence from potential futures, then worse things than even Civorage would have come to pass long ago.¡±


    ¡°So, what¡ª?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ll find out in due course, my heart.¡± Sayf gave Saoirse a shining smile. He loved all his children, Ellaenie knew¡­but from the moment Saoirse had been born, she¡¯d sensed there was something about her in particular that made him deeply, deeply happy.


    ¡°¡­Oh, alright. Keep your secrets. But you, my beautiful clever girl, need more sleep. I know I do.¡±


    Saoirse didn¡¯t fight it. ¡°Can I sleep with you tonight?¡±


    Ellaenie gave her a squeeze. ¡°Of course you can, Pickle.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll stay up and take over for Adrey,¡± Sayf said. ¡°She needs her sleep as well.¡±


    Ellaenie nodded her gratitude, transferred Saoirse onto her hip, and went back to bed. Saoirse was already basically asleep by the time Ellaenie set her down. Ellaenie tucked her in carefully, then snuggled into bed as well, sighed, took a deep breath and exercised some tricks of the Craft to empty her head. She knew all too well how easy it would be to lie there and fret over how close that had been, how much pain Lisze was in, and this new weirdness.


    That could wait for daylight. Rest now, and let the sleeping mind do its work. She rolled over, kissed Saoirse¡¯s forehead, tucked a little errant hair out of the little girl¡¯s face, then put her own head down, and gave herself gladly to sleep


    She dreams of her daughter as an adult again. But this time, those wide green eyes are creased in a smile.


    <hr>


    <blockquote>


    ¡°Of course, there are other exits from the Empire than the Gate. One of the main reasons a Yunei might be exiled is for participating in the illegal trade of foreign goods, or selling of Yunei goods to foreigners and exiles. Being no smuggler myself, I could not say how these meetings and exchanges are arranged. But constantly throughout the year, by roundabout channels, a shipment of Yunei goods arrives on Garanhir, and sell at an exquisite rate. I can only presume the trade is profitable enough to be worth the risk. I hasten to add: do not think to use these smuggling routes as a way into the country. The Yunei have made it plain that the penalty for a trespassing foreigner is an instant prejudicial execution. Nobody visits the Empire from outside save the Crowns and Heralds.¡± ¡ªPrince Ruber of Valai, My Travels


    </blockquote>


    <h2>Finally done</h2>


    Reading room, the Thundering Hall, St¨®rsteinn 09.06.03.10.13


    ¡°Annd¡­that¡¯s it!¡± Amir stabbed his pen down in a full stop, then sat back with a grin. ¡°Crowns. We just translated a Yunei memoir. That¡¯s not something I ever imagined I¡¯d do.¡±


    ¡°Me either¡­¡± Derghan rumbled. ¡°And here¡¯s hoping I never have to do it again.¡±


    Sin, Jerl and Mouse uttered a loose chorus of ¡°Hear, hear.¡± They¡¯d been at the translation work for five days since learning about the Word Vault, and had quickly decided to just finish the work before seeking any further clues.


    Amir tutted, fondly. ¡°Brutes.¡±


    ¡°Engineer,¡± Derghan corrected him. ¡°You¡¯d be feeling about the same way if I¡¯d had you strip and rebuild one of the engines.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t be so sure,¡± Sin disagreed. ¡°I don¡¯t think there¡¯s anything Amir can¡¯t find fascinating, nay?¡±


    Amir nodded fervently, causing a quartet of tired chuckles.


    ¡°Alright, well don¡¯t keep us in suspense,¡± Jerl prompted. ¡°I¡¯m pretty sure we got some more about this heirloom word vault, right?¡±


    ¡°We most certainly did!¡± Amir flipped through his notes. ¡°It¡¯s¡­very political, from what I can tell.¡±


    ¡°This Sho-An Nu fella, right?¡± That name had started popping up about halfway through the book, in¡­well, it was hard to tell, given how unfailingly decorous and flattering the scribe had been about his betters, but the language concerning Sho-An Nu had somehow seemed to Jerl to have a whiff of irony about them. Though, he couldn¡¯t quite put his finger on what exactly was giving him that impression.


    From what Jerl could tell, Sho-An Nu and Yun-Fah Le were equals in rank and importance, and thus rivals with their eyes set on the same promotion, winner takes all. Indeed, a major part of the reason behind Yun-Fah Le¡¯s tour of the empire and collection of excise had been to one-up his rival.


    By the end of the trip, both men had endured a suspicious number of near-misses from various hazards and mishaps. Bandit activity, a rabid dog getting loose in the camp, an unexpected raid by elves, the wrong kind of mushroom finding its way into the soup¡­


    ¡°Indeed¡­.here¡¯s an interesting point. The final list of the tribute Yun-Fah Le delivered to the Emperor. Notice anything missing?¡±


    ¡°Huh.¡± They leaned in. Sure enough, there was no mention of any box, glowing text or anything that might be the Word Vault.


    ¡°Where¡¯d it go, then?¡± Sin asked.


    Amir grinned. ¡°I suspect the scribe stole it.¡±


    There was a chuckle from the door, deep and low and relaxed. ¡°Oh, yes. Very good. Just as exemplary as I remember¡­¡±


    They turned. It took Jerl a second to recognize Yngmir, who was not his usual titanic size. He had shrunk himself down to a ¡°mere¡± eight foot tall so as to visit them in the reading room, but was showing his wings to compensate for his reduced stature. Two vast striped and speckled owl¡¯s wings tucked themselves tight to his back as he squeezed through the doorframe.


    Everyone in the room straightened out of respect, and Amir bowed to him, still grinning. ¡°Thank you, Lord Herald.¡±


    Yngmir¡¯s full, sprawling beard twitched as he returned the smile, and he ambled forward to pick up the book they¡¯d spent the last week translating. He set it in the air next to him and let it hover, the pages turning on their own at about the rate of a ticking clock as he scanned them with an idle expression. ¡°What gave the thief away?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Well¡­¡¯stole¡¯ and ¡®thief¡¯ might be a little more than is warranted. See¡­.ah. The sixty-second entry. Our scribe clearly spent some time poisoning the well with regards to the quality of the gift, stating that he had advised Yun-Fah Le that a small box no-one could open might well be an interesting curiosity, but it was surely not worthy of the Emperor. And Yun-Fah Le seems to have agreed.¡±


    ¡°Hmm. How wonderfully subtle.¡±


    ¡°Meaning¡­the Vault isn¡¯t in the Forbidden CIty after all. Huh.¡± Jerl frowned. ¡°Who was this scribe?¡±


    Amir produced another piece of paper with a flourish. ¡°Deng-Hao On-Le. And that¡¯s a name that snaged my memory, of course.¡±


    Yngmir smiled ever wider, while the other four just glanced at each other. ¡°¡­Of¡­course¡­¡± Sin ventured after a second.


    ¡°Haven¡¯t you read Prince Ruber of Valai?¡±


    ¡°¡¯Course I have, but we don¡¯t all have your memory, nay?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re a bloody showman when you¡¯re pleased with yourself, mate,¡± Jerl pointed out. ¡°Get to the point.¡±


    Amir just smiled at him and pushed a bookmarked copy of My Travels across the table. Jerl opened it at the marked page, and read, muttering a vague nonsense **to himself as he tracked down the page looking for the bit Amir wanted him to see. ¡°¡¯¡­initially met with some difficulty, as the prevailing Yunei attitude is that even a foreign prince is inferior to the most wretched Yunei peasant. Still, my efforts eventually yielded the rare privilege of an audience with the Gate¡¯s administrator, one Deng-Li On.¡¯ Huh.¡±


    Amir nodded eagerly. ¡°You have to understand some subtleties about Yunei culture of course, but that name reveals two important facts. First, the man Prince Ruber spoke to is a direct male-line descendant of our scribe. And secondly, the family was promoted. They¡¯re no longer subservient to the Le family, and that¡¯s reinforced by the fact that the Gate¡¯s administrator could be nothing less than a nobleman of the fourth class.¡±


    ¡°¡­You think the Word is at The Gate,¡± Mouse realized.


    ¡°Exactly! It¡¯s¡­only a guess of course, but if Deng-Hao, this Deng-Li¡¯s great great grandfather, persuaded Yung-Fah Le to let him keep the Vault for himself, it¡¯ll be among the On family¡¯s heirlooms in their estate on the Yunei side of the wall.¡±


    ¡°A most intriguing hypothesis,¡± Yngmir told him, with a twinkle in his eye that all but explicitly confirmed it. Jerl almost chuckled to himself. That was a Herald¡¯s response, alright: let them do all the legwork and figure it out, then gently confirm what they¡¯d figured out using a deniable turn of phrase.


    ¡°Sounds a damnsight more doable than the Imperial Palace,¡± Sin mused.


    ¡°I daresay it is¡­.¡± Yngmir set the book down, and unrolled a map for them. Jerl blinked: the document seemed to have sprung out of thin air even as he laid it out for them. ¡°Though, to what degree, I could not say. I myself am no expert on skullduggery, being¡­hmm¡­of a generally unsubtle disposition*,* yes?¡±


    There were laughs, and everyone leaned in to inspect the map.


    ¡°As Herald, I am one of few privileged with access to the Empire. And seeing as there was no way you could have acquired a map such as this for yourselves¡­¡± He flashed a knowing smile. ¡°I am not normally one for bending the rules, but I am inclined to heed Lady Haust¡¯s suggestions.¡±


    The map continued the Yunei habit of xenophobia, in that outside the gate, the foreign quarters was left blank. The mapmakers clearly didn¡¯t care one jot to know (or more likely would have been severely punished for learning) how the foreigners and exiles had organized their side of town, though there were vaguely noted scribbles here and there, especially toward the bottom of the map where a series of wide lines and some terse script suggested the location of the airship docks.


    On the Yunei side, though, it was exquisite. Every street, alleyway, decorative feature, tree and bush was painstakingly recorded in its exact dimensions.


    ¡°How recent is this?¡± Jerl asked.


    ¡°Two years,¡± Yngmir said with some satisfaction. ¡°I do not visit the Empire myself, as a gesture of opprobrium for their insularity, but I do have people who procure documents such as these for me. To facilitate observation. A foresighted policy, as it now transpires, hmm?¡±


    ¡°Very,¡± Jerl agreed with a nod. ¡°Thank you.¡±


    ¡°All I ask is that you please do try to acheive your heist with an appropriate minimum of temporal revision. It¡¯s quite an unpleasant sensation.¡±


    ¡°We, uh¡­haven¡¯t actually decided on doing a heist, yet,¡± Jerl pointed out.


    ¡°You have another lead on a Word that I was unaware of?¡±


    ¡°Well, uh¡­no. Not as such.¡±


    ¡°Well, perhaps if you continue to look you shall find one. There are a great many secrets hidden away in this library of mine.¡± Yngmir stepped back and turned to go, his eyes sparkling with amusement. ¡°A body could look for a lifetime and be lucky to find one thing¡­¡±


    ¡°¡­Thank you, lord Herald.¡±


    Yngmir gave a satisfied nod, and made his exit. ¡°Good fortune to you.¡±


    The five of them looked at each other. Nobody said anything for a few seconds. Then Sin sighed and pushed herself back from the table.


    ¡°I¡¯ll go check our provisions and round up the lads,¡± she said.


    ¡°Aye, I¡¯ll give the engines their pre-flight,¡± Derghan added.


    ¡°I¡¯ll calculate a course, if Mouse can copy the map?¡± Amir suggested.


    ¡°See if you can reasonably take us via Haptar Getesh on the way,¡± Jerl said.


    ¡°Premonition?¡± Mouse asked.


    ¡°No, just intuition. But I still want to visit, unless it¡¯s completely out of our way.¡±


    ¡°Fair enough,¡± Amir nodded amiably and started packing things away. Mouse shrugged, and set to the work of tracing the map


    Another Word. Which one could it be? And who were they going to give it to?


    Well¡­don¡¯t count the money before the sale. There was still the matter of getting it first. And that, Jerl intuited, was going to be much easier said than done. But he was vindicated: the choice to come to the Thundering Hall had been the right one, and had given them a lead after all. Perhaps more than one!


    Time would tell.


    <hr>


    <blockquote>


    ¡°In the years since the invention of Keeghan¡¯s Patent Lift Gas, airships have undergone many changes in the shape of their lifting bags. The very first Keeghan models were held aloft by simple spherical balloons, and these still have their place for aerial buoys and sky-stations that are not intended to move from their anchor. But mobile ships nowadays exhibit a variety of different bag shapes and designs. Sausage, Onion Net, Piscine, Slack Bag Bullet, Rigid Frame Bullet, Flat-Wide, Tri-Stack¡­The list is exhaustive, and the illustrations below represent only the most commonly seen varieties. Each has its merits, and downsides, and there is not yet a clearly superior and dominant design. Some attempt has been made to build airships with protected bags built inside the hull, but this has so far met with limited success due to weight concerns leading to poor buoyancy. Still, as the airship industry matures, it is to be expected that lighter and stronger materials will one day bring the much-pursued ¡®Bagless¡¯ hull to the skies. And there remains, of course, the fantasy of one day constructing an entirely bagless heavier-than-air vehicle that can fly as the birds do. One can only imagine what sky travel will look like should such a machine ever come to market.¡± ¡ªLeli Emeris, Airships: A Beginner¡¯s Guide.


    </blockquote>


    <h2>At the breakfast table</h2>


    Crownspouse suites, Sayf¡¯s Oasis. 09.06.03.10.13


    Morning followed its normal routine, somehow. Saoirse, still a child after all, bounced out of bed bright and early and wanted to Do Stuff, no matter how much mummy might want another hour or two in bed.


    If only there was some magical device for entertaining children¡­alas.


    Still. Breakfast was welcome, and Ellaenie had come to appreciate the ritual of making her own rather than having it sent up from the kitchens and waiting for her in the morning. There was something more wholesome about cooking for yourself.


    Today, though, she¡¯d barely got the ingredients together before thin, cautious voice from the door ventured: ¡°You¡­should¡­let me do that.¡±


    She looked up and blinked. Lisze was dithering on the threshold, her fingers trying to tie knots in her skirt, and her gaze looking anywhere that wasn¡¯t a face. She looked wretched, timid, anxious and a shadow of her old self¡­but also as infinitely more than she had been yesterday as one was more than zero.


    Ellaenie was about to protest and say otherwise, but her Sight and thoughts and training caught her. What did Lisze need?


    ¡°¡­If you want to,¡± she said, after a second.


    Lisze nodded tremulously, and almost stumbled toward the hearth, though her movements gained a strength and certainty as she gathered ingredients and utensils.


    ¡°Mummy was gonna cook eggs an¡¯ salmon,¡± Saoirse told her, nearly causing Ellaenie to giggle: she had, in fact, planned something else, but that was Saoirse''s favourite breakfast, and she would not miss an opportunity to claim it. Lisze didn''t notice: she nodded, not absently but with a sudden focus, and set to work.


    Ellaenie watched her work. Part of her was expecting overdone rubbery scrambled eggs, but instead Lisze deftly delivered a trio of perfect, buttery, silken Urstoin omelettes, even throwing on a little handful of shredded fresh herbs. She sat opposite Ellaenie as Saoirse tucked in, and for the first time since the rescue, the two of them met, and held, each others¡¯ gaze.


    After a second, Lisze sniffed a bit. ¡°I¡­¡±


    When she trailed off, Ellaenie leaned across the table and squeezed her hand. It seemed to work. Lisze took a deep breath, swallowed, and squeezed back. There was still a small bandage on her arm from last night¡¯s suicide attempt.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± she said.


    ¡°No, Liz. You¡¯re hurting. You don¡¯t have to¡ª¡±


    ¡°I do, Ellie. I was so¡­I didn¡¯t think how much it would hurt you, Ellie. I nearly¡­I tried to¡­¡± Lisze shut her eyes for a moment, but when she opened them again she was steeled, somehow. Stronger. ¡°I know you saved me. I know I should be grateful. I know all the happiness and love and warmth in the Circle was a lie to control me, but, but it still¡­aches. More than I can stand.¡±


    ¡°You seem better today,¡± Ellaenie pointed out.


    ¡°Your husband took care of me last night. He¡¯s¡­a good listener.¡±


    ¡°He really is,¡± Ellaenie agreed.


    There was no smile. But Lisze extracted her hand, picked up her fork and ate a little of her omelette. It was the first morsel she¡¯d eaten unaided since the raid.


    ¡°Never again,¡± she promised after a while. ¡°I won¡¯t try that again. Or anything like it.¡±


    ¡°Oh, Lizzy!¡± Ellaenie¡¯s heart broke a little, and she abandoned her breakfast to scoot her chair around and hug her. Lisze gasped, but hugged her back.


    They didn¡¯t actually say anything else as they ate breakfast. Ellaenie got the impression that Lisze wanted to say things she didn¡¯t want a little girl to hear, so their conversation was put on hold until Saoirse¡¯s tutor, Mister Pola, arrived to collect her and take her away for lessons.


    Once she was gone, Lizzy opened up fully. Every pain, every pang, every longing. For hours they walked the perimeter of the Oasis¡¯ gardens, and Ellaenie listened as her friend thought aloud. Sometimes, she said a word or two to steer Lisze away from the black pits in her path, but for the most part she was just there, listening. Being a friend, and a sister.


    Eventually, Lisze retreated to bed, citing exhaustion. They traded hugs, Lisze promised to send for her if she felt overwhelmed, and Ellaenie went to find her husband.


    She found Sayf in his pottery workshop. It was a funny thing for someone who could spin matter out of nothing and transmute the very air itself into clay, but Sayf preferred to work with his hands and with real materials. He imported the very finest sculpting clay and would take days producing delicate, scintillating works of the utmost delicacy and exquisite beauty.


    Today, though, he was doing something different. He had a large bowl in front of him, and jars of¡ªEllaenie closed her eyes and practiced with her Word for a second to get a sense of the substances within. Fine wood powder, lacquer sap, wheat flour, vegetable oil, powdered gold, pure ethanol.


    She recognized the bowl. It was one of Cerida¡¯s favorites, wide and shallow and a deep, lustrous green. Usually it sat full of potpourri atop the dresser at the end of her bed. Right now, though, it was in several pieces.


    ¡°¡­Mending a broken thing with gold lacquer, so it comes out beautiful in a new way.¡± She leaned in and kissed his cheek. ¡°How very subtle you are, my love.¡±


    He laughed. ¡°Coincidence, I swear it.¡±


    ¡°Good. I¡¯d hate to think you believe I¡¯m so obtuse as to need such a heavy-handed metaphor.¡±


    ¡°Oh, no more than I am. We¡¯re all obtuse from time to time.¡± He set his work aside for the moment and turned to face her. ¡°You look happier.¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s better today. Thank you for talking with her.¡±


    He sighed. ¡°Truthfully, I did more than talk. I¡­wish it could have been otherwise, but some patients require surgery or they¡¯ll never even start to heal.¡±


    Ellaenie nodded. She¡¯d guessed as much. ¡°She has a long road ahead of her I think, but at least she¡¯s on it, now. I know messing with the mind and free will makes you uncomfortable.¡±


    ¡°It can be the deepest sin there is. You need to have very good reasons to go there, and it¡¯s all too easy to mistake good intentions for good reasons. But¡­I think soothing the worst of the harm done to her by somebody else is probably, on balance, more good than evil.¡±


    Ellaenie couldn¡¯t help but snort softly as she sat beside him. ¡°So cautious. I never would have guessed it about you, before I knew you.¡±


    He shrugged. ¡°Everyone¡¯s careful when holding their baby in their arms. And the whole world is our baby.¡±


    ¡°So, what are these troubles we¡¯re going through right now with the Words and everything? Teething? Growing pains? Teenage rebellion?¡±


    ¡°Mm¡­imagine if Saoirse started going through her teenage rebellious phase right now, at the age of five. An expected event, but much too early.¡± He shrugged. ¡°It is how it is. What¡¯s your next move?¡±


    ¡°We only smashed one Circle in Auldenheigh. As a proof, it was a success¡­as a strategy, it¡¯s nothing. We need to free the dukes.¡±


    ¡°Civorage will see that coming.¡±


    ¡°And the people of Auldenheigh saw us strike a Circle and get away with it. For years, the Circles have seemed invincible. In recovering Lisze, we corrected that. Seeing us coming won¡¯t do him any good if we¡¯re a landslide that¡¯ll sweep him away no matter what.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re sounding overconfident, beloved,¡± Sayf warned. ¡°He still has a lot of factors on his side of the scales. More than you have on yours.¡±


    Ellaenie frowned at him. ¡°¡­You think we¡¯re not ready?¡±


    ¡°You could whip the populace up into a frenzy against him, and all he¡¯d have to do is stand in front of them and instruct them to go home. You¡¯d need a lake of your potion to innoculate against that.¡± Sayf shook his head. ¡°You want a battle. Goodness knows, I want a battle too. But this war isn¡¯t ripe enough for that, yet. For the time being, you still have to play the game of sabotage and small gains. But I think you¡¯re right about the need to do something more than a proof of concept. The time has come to hit him somewhere he¡¯ll find painful, rather than soothe your own pain.¡±


    Ellaenie considered that. Then she smiled.


    ¡°¡­I think¡­¡± she said slowly, ¡°I may know exactly the right target.¡±


    <hr>


    <h2>Interlude: Jolting awake</h2>


    The Gate, Yonguitang Earthmote 09.06.03.10.13


    Deng-Nah On opened his eyes with a snort and a gasp, and needed several seconds to get his breathing under control. Beside him, his mistress Sumi stirred and made a small mew of displeasure at the disturbance, but she fell asleep again in seconds without properly waking up.


    Rather than disturb her further by trying and failing to sleep, Nah rolled aside and extracted himself gracefully from the futon, before padding gently across the room, retrieving his robe, sliding the door aside, and stepping out onto the veranda outside his bedroom. It was still deep in the night, perhaps a little past halfway through. Above the ornamental garden and its carefully placed and carved stones, he could see the inferior earthmotes gleaming in the light of distant day.


    The same dream, again. The same strange, foreign faces. Nah had never even seen a foreigner before, but somehow his sleep these past three nights had been interrupted by the clear images of them. So clearly, he could picture them still.


    Three days without a full restful night, despite Sumi¡¯s wonderful attentions, was starting to wear on him. He sighed, and folded his robe about himself. Perhaps¡­perhaps if he painted the faces from his dreams, he¡¯d drive them out of his head?


    It seemed dubious, but in the absence of a more credible idea¡­why not?


    Fortunately, there were always servants awake at every hour in his father¡¯s house. There were always lightstones to charge, floors to scrub, clothes to launder and all the other tasks of keeping the place properly ordered and seemly. He sent one of the floor-scrubbing girls away to retrieve brushes, paint and paper, and one of the lightstone boys to fetch his writing tray. Minutes later, he was sitting on the lawn under one of the juniper trees, sketching in the basic shapes by the light of the lanterns hung therein.


    It was the first restful thing he¡¯d done in days. In minutes, he was completely lost in the task and didn¡¯t notice at all as the night wore on. He glanced up briefly when day came and changed the quality of the light, but other than that, he painted and the ghostly faces that had so rudely interrupted his nights took shape.


    He¡¯d never seen a man with red hair or skin as pale as paper, and he hardly understood how skin could be marked with bolts of lightning in bright blue, but there he was. The same went for the strange skinny one with pointed ears, eyes like opals and hair like beech bark. There was a brute with skin as bronzed as a farmer¡¯s and a black beard, and a slim man as dark as lacquered walnut wood with a small pointed beard and a lavishly embroidered hat.


    Those four, he achieved with ease. The fifth was¡­elusive. He caught flashes of impressions, of hair as yellow as antique silver and of a level, watchful gaze, but their face refused to come into focus. He couldn¡¯t even decide if they were a man or a woman.


    And the sixth was truly bizarre. In his dream, she was simultaneously a child, an adult, a venerable elder and a timeless ancient, but in all incarnations her skin was the hue of caramel, her eyes as green as jade, her face beautiful enough to derange his heart even though she was an outsider. If the brushmanship existed to properly capture such a staggering presence, the gift was not Deng-Nah¡¯s.


    He sighed, washed his brush, and sat back to try and make sense of things.


    ¡°Foreigners, Deng-Nah? When did you ever see foreigners to paint them so?¡±


    Nah stiffened. He¡¯d been so absorbed, he hadn¡¯t noticed anyone approaching him. He pushed the tray forward, turned and stood. ¡°Father. You move with quiet grace.¡±


    ¡°Or, you were not paying attention,¡± Deng-Li reprimanded him, though not unkindly. ¡°You seem¡­distracted.¡±


    ¡°I have not slept well.¡± Nah gestured to the paintings. ¡°These faces have haunted my dreams.¡±


    ¡°Dreaming of foreigners? Most inappropriate, my son.¡± Deng-Li picked up one of the paintings. ¡°But I must ask again, when did you ever lay eyes on foreigners, to have painted them so¡­accurately?¡±


    ¡°Only in my dreams.¡±


    Deng-Li shuffled the papers. ¡°¡­This one is an elf.¡±


    ¡°How can you tell?¡±


    ¡°The ears, my son. And the unnatural hue of her skin.¡±


    ¡°Elves¡­¡± Deng-Nah took the paper back and stared in fascination and mounting wonder. ¡°These¡­must be more than mere dreams, then. How else could I see so clearly to paint them?¡±


    ¡°Hmm.¡± Deng-Li considered the paintings a moment longer, then gathered them up. ¡°Let us hope,¡± he said, ¡°that you have exorcised these visions. This is an improper subject, Deng-Nah. Foreigners and elves are beneath your consideration, and visions and soothsaying are unworthy magic. Put it all from your mind.¡±


    ¡°What if the dreams continue?¡±


    ¡°You will exercise discipline.¡±


    ¡°Father, I haven¡¯t slept properly in three days! I need to¡ª¡±


    Deng-Li raised a hand, silencing him instantly. ¡°Deng-Nah. Your tone verges on disrespect.¡±


    Deng-Nah took a deep breath, then bowed, planting his hands on his knees. ¡°Thank you for telling me so; your guidance points me toward greater perfection,¡± he said. It was a suitably proper apology, and Deng-Li softened, inasmuch as a man of his stature ever could. He was quite a tender and gentle man, really, to the limits granted him by his station.


    ¡°I find I sleep easier after a cup of orange blossom tea,¡± he suggested.


    ¡°Thank you. I shall mention it to Sumi, though her attentiveness and care in that regard has been exemplary,¡± Nah assured him. ¡°I am quite well taken care-of, father. I am simply¡­plagued. By visions I do not understand, of things I should not know. Would it not be appropriate for me to deduce their significance?¡±


    ¡°Many an exile has justified the path they walked as an attempt to behave appropriately. Nothing proper comes from foreigners and elves, Deng-Nah. I have taught you this.¡±


    ¡°Yes, father.¡±


    Deng-Li nodded, again not unkindly, and patted his son on the shoulder. ¡°You should return to your bed and rest. Lack of sleep will harm you in body and soul.¡±


    In that regard, at least, Deng-Nah had no doubts that Deng-Li was correct. ¡°Yes, father. I will.¡±


    ¡°Good. Remember, orange blossom tea and only a light meal.¡±


    ¡°Yes, father.¡±


    Satisfied, Deng-Li rolled the paintings in his hand, they exchanged polite bows, and parted ways. Nah saw his father throw the paintings into the burning brazier by the garden gate as he went.


    Well¡­perhaps that was truly the proper thing. He yawned and turned back toward his bedroom, gesturing for a servant who had been hovering discreetly nearby to fetch Sumi and explain his need. And indeed, quite soon he enjoyed a light snack and a cup of orange blossom tea, and settled down with his head in Sumi¡¯s lap while she stroked his hair and hummed him off to sleep.


    It didn¡¯t work. He dreamed of the faces again.


    And this time, he felt sure they were trying to speak to him.


    <hr>

 Chapter 18: Gatecrashing (pt. 1)

    <blockquote>


    In Yunei tradition, station is a consequence of virtue, with the Emperor being deemed to have achieved, across his many past incarnations, as perfect an understanding of virtue as can be realized by a mortal soul. Under this view of the world, it is understood that the Crowns transcend virtue, having no need of the clumsy rules and forms of etiquette which serve to guide and educate mundane beings: virtue is so innate to their nature that they can do no wrong, even when their behaviour would seem deeply Improper in a mortal. It is to this state that followers of the Proper Way ultimately aspire. ¡ªAnoloa Nwodike, The Crowns


    </blockquote>


    <h2>Contemplating contradictions</h2>


    On family estate, the Gate, Yonguitang Earthmote 09.06.03.11.02


    It was Proper for a noble of Deng-Nah On¡¯s station to have mistresses, of course, and his wife Di-Ha had carefully chosen three of her friends for him. And yet, despite the fact that they existed and served their lord with his wife¡¯s knowledge and express approval, and had usually been her friends and known they would marry and serve the same man since girlhood, it was still deemed Improper for them to ever actually see each other in person. Correspondence was acceptable: to actually lay eyes on each other was not.


    Just one of the many peculiarities of Proper Behaviour that Deng-Nah had often found frustrating and confusing. So girls could grow up together, know their roles all their lives, be the closest of friends and confidants and choose each other for a Proper role, and yet when that role was fulfilled, they would never see each other again?


    It was Improper to question such things, of course. But if there was logic to the convention, Deng-Nah failed to understand it.


    The Proper Form thus created a periodic awkward dance where if, for example, Lady Di-Ha On wanted to ¡°surprise¡± her husband by coming home from the capitol early, the effect of the surprise was rather spoiled by the need to banish the current mistress-in-residence back to her own waiting house.


    Di-Ha knew this, of course, and would never be rude to her friend, and furthermore it was Improper to abruptly pitch a mistress out on her ear without good cause. Which suggested she must have some important or secret news from the capitol to share.


    Spying at court was a major part of a wife¡¯s duties, after all. Though the On family were the very lowest rung of nobility at court, the bottom-feeders of the Transcendent Emperor¡¯s lake, the way to ascend higher through the Degrees of Nobility and thus come closer to perfection was to mercilessly uncover and exploit all the imperfections and Impropriety of other families, while shielding their own reputation.


    Di-Ha was an expert. As graceful as petals on still water, as serene as snowfall, precise and masterful in all the Proper arts, and as ruthless as a wasp. She was, Deng-Nah knew, a catch above his own station, being a third cousin once removed to the Empress. By rights, she should have married into a family of the second degree, but there had been a scandal fifty years ago involving a rather incautious and foolish great-aunt, and her family¡¯s fortunes were still being repaired.


    Their marriage was politically convenient for both families, and what man could complain at fathering heirs with such a beautiful and intelligent woman? But Deng-Nah had been delighted and astonished to find that, while she was like a sight-hound with her thoughts ever locked on the prey of restoring her family¡¯s reputation, and everything she said, thought and did was through that lens, There was still some real affection between them.


    Thus, as the gates were flung wide and Sumi¡¯s palanquin departed via the Wind Gate at the same time as Lady Di-Ha¡¯s was carried in through the Earth Gate, Deng-Nah found himself looking forward to her company. Any other womans affection might be an affectation for the sake of propriety, but Di-Ha was an incredible woman far outside the norm. Mistresses were nice¡­but Deng-Nah¡¯s first love was his wife. And that, somehow, felt right in a way that was far beyond what the Proper Way required.


    She was also entering the eighth j¨­ of pregnancy, so the fact that she alighted from her palanquin with no discernible difficulty and only the most delicate of support from her handmaiden was enough to almost make Deng-Nah break protocol and beam with pride. What a woman!


    But she would be even less forgiving of Improper behaviour on his part than his father would be, so he kept his face suitably grave and restrained, and bowed to her.


    ¡°Lady Di-Ha, my love. Welcome home.¡±


    She dipped the small curtsey that was Proper for heavily pregnant ladies, and replied so softly she could hardly be said to have spoken at all. ¡°Thank you, my love.¡± All according to form, of course. It was not done to seem too emotional in public settings.


    ¡°I hope your health has remained with you,¡± Nah continued, stepping forward to take her arm. She smiled at him, and then bowed her head to Deng-Li, who returned the formality with a dip of his own head before turning and leaving them alone.


    ¡°I remain blessed,¡± she agreed.


    They continued in this anodyne, acceptable vein for the few minutes it took to walk to their private chamber, where Di-Ha¡¯s maid settled her comfortably on a cushion and retreated to sit outside the door. She would listen to every word, of course. Deng-Nah wondered how loyal the girl would be: she was a new one, not familiar to him. Fourteen or so?


    Di-Ha guessed at his thoughts from the way his eyes followed the girl out of the room. ¡°Luyo is young and innocent,¡± she said in a soft tone. ¡°I do not doubt her loyalty.¡±


    ¡°There are concerns besides loyalty, my love. Innocence can lead to foolishness.¡±


    ¡°All the more reason to mentor her,¡± Di-Ha replied. ¡°She is a cousin of Her Majesty the Empress, and to me.¡±


    ¡°The Empress must favor you greatly, to entrust her to your care,¡± Deng-Nah observed. ¡°You have been successful at court.¡±


    ¡°Indeed I have. And there is much that is interesting at court¡­¡± Di-Ha adjusted herself slightly and allowed a brief moment of discomfort to show.


    ¡°Do you need anything, my love?¡±


    Di-Ha sighed. ¡°My legs long for a walk around the garden, but my feet and back would not tolerate it. I must endure. You are kind to offer.¡± She favored him with a smile¡ªdelicate, precise and restrained as ever¡ªand looked him up and down. ¡°What of your own health? Sumi tells me your sleep has been interrupted by strange dreams of late.¡±


    Deng-Nah nodded gravely. ¡°She has been a great help and comfort. I cannot fault her care of me. It seems I am simply¡­afflicted, though I do not know how or why.¡±


    She nodded, grateful of his courtesy in praising her friend and chosen mistress. ¡°You dream of¡­foreigners?¡±


    ¡°Yes. It is most strange. I saw their faces clearly enough to draw them. Father tells me one of them was an elf. I have¡­never seen an elf in my life, that I know of. How then would my dreams tell me what one should look like?¡±


    ¡°Most curious,¡± she agreed, thoughtfully. There was a moment of silence between them before she turned toward the door. ¡°Luyo?¡±


    The door slid open. ¡°My lady?¡± The girl outside very properly did not look at them directly.


    ¡°MY husband and I will take tea.¡±


    ¡°Yes, my lady.¡± The door closed.


    Di-Ha lowered her voice as the girl departed, her soft, shuffling footsteps nevertheless audible thanks to the tuned floorboards. ¡°There has been much discussion of foreign happenings at court.¡±


    ¡°How unusual,¡± Deng-Nah frowned. ¡°Why should the Proper People be concerned with foreigners?¡±


    ¡°There is talk of a conqueror. One who holds all the lands of the Great Crescent in his grip.¡± She indicated briefly upwards with her eyes, referring to the largest earthmote. ¡°The rumor from agents in foreign lands is that he has no need of armies: he conquers with powerful magic that controls the mind.¡±


    ¡°A sorcerer?¡±


    ¡°So it is whispered. The symbol he uses is a circle of plain steel, and he seduces the weak, the destitute and the Improper by giving them purpose, housing and food.¡±


    ¡°A circle?¡± Deng-Nah pursed his lips thoughtfully.


    ¡°Yes. You have heard of this?¡±


    ¡°Men and women wearing such a symbol have been reported preaching in heathen language outside the gate. And there is a building under construction, a circular compound many blocks across.¡±


    She shifted with a frown. ¡°Have you seen it for yourself?¡±


    ¡°No. But I have read the report. They say it is a very strange building, without tile or brick or wood. The outer wall is sheer and plain, with a band of lightstones behind frosted glass near the top. And our people watching from afar can see that those who dwell within stick to a precise schedule every day.¡±


    ¡°There is nothing nothing obviously improper about any of that, on the face of things.¡±


    ¡°Not on the face of things,¡± Nah agreed.


    She nodded. ¡°The concern at court is that this conqueror will soon set his sights on the glory of the Yunei people.¡±


    ¡°A foreign invader? There cannot be any belief that he could succeed, surely?¡±


    ¡°Her majesty the Empress expressed to me her confidence that no loyal subject of his majesty the Transcendent Emperor would be so disloyal as to say such a thing.¡±


    Ah. Which meant in fact the Empress thought the Empire was anything but secure. And for her to confide as much to Di-Ha¡­


    ¡°Nevertheless, the foreign barbarian must surely be ignorant of the impossibility of his ambitions. The On family¡¯s duty is to vigilantly and dutifully serve,¡± he said aloud. ¡°It would be an intolerable insult to the beloved Emperor if his rule were to be challenged in even the least degree by a foreigner.¡±


    ¡°Intolerable,¡± Di-Ha agreed.


    Deng-Nah nodded thoughtfully. In the corridor outside, he heard the sound of Luyo returning with the tea service. ¡°I shall meditate on what walls and soldiers can do against a sorcerer of the mind,¡± he declared.


    Di-Ha favored him with another smile, then returned the conversation back to less sensitive matters as her maid returned and began the tea service.


    Deng-Nah¡¯s thoughts the rest of the day kept circling back to his dreams. Could this sorcerer have been exerting his will, somehow? It seemed¡­unlikely, he felt.


    For the second time today, he felt a degree of frustration toward the rules of Proper Conduct. Not just the need to couch everything in terms of it being unthinkable that anyone was anything other than perfectly loyal to the Emperor, or the notion that loyalty meant never expressing any doubts as to the invincibility of the realm or the superiority of the Yunei people.


    Deng-Nah had not seen foreigners in person, but he had seen their flying ships, lumbering in the distance above the far end of the Foreign Quarter beyond the gate. And it had occurred to him that a force of those could fly lazily over a city dropping firebombs, and reduce whole districts to cinders. Buildings made of wood and paper would be defenseless.


    What airships did the Empire have? They had been deemed Improper by the present Emperor¡¯s grandfather. Or, more likely, the Council of Lords had deemed them an unacceptable risk of cultural contamination and a possible avenue for the import of foreign ideas, which surely the uneducated and weak-minded peasantry would be seduced by, and so the Emperor had decreed as they wished, which was as things had always been.


    The Emperor was transcendent, most proper, most wise, most enlightened and most holy¡­and thus, officially, not to be bothered with such mundanities as policy and governance. Thus the Council of Lords advised him, and he in his unrivalled wisdom accepted their advice and made his decrees based on their recommendations.


    It seemed to Deng-Nah that the whole system would be more honest if they just acknowledged that the Emperor¡¯s role was symbolic. But of course, to say as much would be not only Improper, but gravely disloyal.


    He frowned at himself and put down the letter he¡¯d been staring out without reading for some minutes. Where were these thoughts coming from? Was it just lack of sleep making him irritable and prompting his thoughts to wander?


    Inspiration struck him. He stood, smoothing his robes, and gestured to his bodyguard, Sho-Gong.


    ¡°My lord?¡±


    ¡°I wish to stand atop the gate and look outward.¡±


    ¡°¡­As you wish, lord.¡± In the Yunei language, this was a single syllable, but still Sho-Gong managed to pack a remarkable amount of surprise and caution into it. But it was not a bodyguard¡¯s place to question his lord, and so he did not. Very Proper.


    Minutes later, Deng-Nah was in his palanquin, being borne through the streets toward the gate. Why hadn¡¯t he done this sooner? It would not be long now until his father passed on lordship of the town and responsibility for this one gateway between the Emperor¡¯s realm and heathen lands became Deng-Nah¡¯s. If he was to be a good and dutiful bulwark for his people, he needed to know what he was dealing with on the far side of the wall.


    So it was that he ascended the steps inside one of the gate towers and emerged onto the battlement above the gate to be assailed immediately by entirely new smells and sounds. The very cadence of the market-cries and ware-hawking merchants rising up from below were alien, as too was the acrid scent on the breeze.


    He wrinkled his nose at it. ¡°What is that stench?¡±


    ¡°The esteemed lord¡¯s nose is perhaps offended by the smell of foreign sky-ships,¡± he was informed by the scribe who had dutifully hurried up to this perch behind him.


    ¡°Elaborate.¡±


    ¡°If the esteemed lord looks, he will see the heathen devices are held aloft by bags. These have been filled with an alchemical mixture. It is this mixture which creates the foul odor he speaks of.¡±


    ¡°Hmm. How does it work?¡± Deng-Nah mused. He¡¯d meant for it to be a quiet, inner thought, but the scribe took it as a direct question. Damn it! He needed a good night¡¯s sleep soon, or such slips could become¡­problematic.


    ¡°It would be highly improper for this humble scribe to know such a thing, of course,¡± the scribe replied, carefully. From the look on his face, he was now worrying that admitting even the small knowledge he had thus far revealed might land him in trouble.


    Deng-Nah grunted and said nothing. Why should a man be punished for knowing such things?


    ¡­Now there was a most improper thought indeed. What was wrong with him? He was quite sure he wouldn¡¯t have thought like this a few weeks ago.


    He raised a hand to his brow and surveyed the Foreign Quarter closely. There were so many airships, he realized. Enough that if the foreigners actually did want to invade his city¡­he was not so sure his soldiers had a reply to such a force. The number of ships alone could surely carry a large force of men far beyond the walls, and if they themselves could circle overhead with weapons¡­


    He made up his mind. He tore his gaze away from the view and looekd to the scribe, who was standing rod-straight and dutifully attentive. ¡°You will prepare a report for me. I wish to know the number of these ships that routinely make port, and what banners, house crests or colors they display. I wish to know especially of their armament.¡±


    ¡°It shall be as the esteemed lord commands.¡±


    Deng-Nah nodded, turned away, and walked back down the stairs.


    And all the way back home, in his mind¡¯s eye, he saw his city burning.


    <hr>


    <blockquote>


    ¡°GOING OUT OF BUSINESS The proprietor¡¯s eyes have been opened to the evils of private enterprise by the truth of Oneness. All stock has been donated to the Church of the One, to be sold and the wealth redistributed to the poor. THIEVES WILL BE PROSECUTED. Experience Oneness for yourself. Seek the Circle.¡± ¡ªSign hung in the door of an upper-class dress shop in Auldenheigh.


    </blockquote>


    <h2>Back into danger</h2>


    The Auld Forest, Enerlend, Garanhir 09.06.03.11.03


    Adrey couldn¡¯t shake the feeling that the moment of transition on these witch-paths in the woods ought to trip her up, somehow. They were definitely confusing, but not in any way that imbalanced a body. It felt more like¡­like she¡¯d been thoughtlessly strolling through her house with the intention of going to her bedroom, only to realize she¡¯d wandered into the parlour instead. It brought a body up short, every time.


    Ellaenie stopped and looked around too, then glanced back and giggled a little bashfully. ¡°It disorients me as well,¡± she admitted. ¡°I don¡¯t think you could ever get used to it or the magic wouldn¡¯t work.¡±


    Adrey suppresed a little shiver. ¡°You know, I don¡¯t think I much like the idea of a method of travel that one can¡¯t grow accustomed to and which relies on¡­how did you put it? Blind spots in the mind?¡±


    Ellaenie shrugged. ¡°The mind is full of blind spots, you know that perfectly well. And you exploit some of them yourself.¡±


    ¡°I do?¡±


    Ellaenie just smirked at her, and continued on down the trail.


    Adrey sighed and followed her. She¡¯d be the first to admit a minimal knowledge of magic. Knowing how to charge her own magestones and induce them to glow was a necessary minimum, but she¡¯d never seen the point in learning beyond that. It often had seemed to her that magic wasn¡¯t worth the effort, or the hazards. As the basic rules of the Art laid out plainly, a wizard who tried to fling a fireball was as like as not to burn their own hand to a withered black stump. What was the point in magic where you had to put in as much effort to achieve the same result anyway, and at greater risk?


    Ellaenie was challenging that presumption. She¡¯d grown so much, and the sisterly love Adrey had felt for her before was now transformed into a considerable degree of awe. She was a crownspouse, a master of the Craft, a Wordspeaker, a mother in both the literal and witch-coven senses of the word¡­


    It made Adrey take a hard look at herself. At what she¡¯d given up to fight back against the Oneists. Ellaenie had love, and a family. Adrey didn¡¯t. The last few weeks at the Oasis had been difficult for her, because every time she saw Ellaenie scoop up her daughter, or melt into her husband¡¯s affectionate arms, she¡¯d felt a stab of envy.


    Inevitably followed a moment later by a pang of foolishness.


    As that thought crossed her mind, Ellaenie slowed and fell back a few paces to take her arm. ¡°You don¡¯t have to do this, you know,¡± she said, quietly.


    ¡°If I don¡¯t, somebody else has do. And I spent eight years training to,¡± Adrey replied. She didn¡¯t question that Ellaenie could guess what was on her mind so accurately as to be almost reading it.


    ¡°You¡¯re not as certain as you¡¯re trying to sound, Addie.¡±


    Adrey sighed, knowing it was true. ¡°I wish things could have been different. That¡¯s all. I am certain of where I need to be and what I need to do, I just¡­¡±


    ¡°Wish you needn¡¯t.¡±


    Adrey nodded, and they walked in comfortable silence for a little while, until they reached a rise at the forest¡¯s edge, and a stony ridge. To their left, the river Heigh was no more than a mile or two away, running arrow-straight down off the mountains in a tangle of rapid tributaries. In the distance, the city was a smudge of smoke and spires, built just below the last and largest tributary where the waters calmed and deepened enough to allow barges and boats to come up from the Blue Sea and the city of Betenstad.


    The sky above Auldenheigh was heavy with the fat bodies of airships.


    Ellaenie sighed to look at it, and Adrey didn¡¯t need witchcraft to guess her friend¡¯s feelings. ¡°You can¡¯t come with me, Ellie. Not yet.¡±


    ¡°I know. But¡­I¡¯m scared for you, Addie. Look at all those ships! The Oneists must have brought everything they have. The whole city must be¡ª¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not scared,¡± Adrey interrupted, and gave her a smile. ¡°If they catch me, you¡¯ll rescue me. I know you will.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯ll use you as bait.¡±


    ¡°And you¡¯ll know it and be ready.¡± They turned to face each other. ¡°Ellie, them being there makes it all the more necessary I go back. The war¡¯s starting for real, now. We¡¯ve finally struck a real, telling blow. Now we have to follow through.¡±


    Ellaenie nodded, though her eyes were still fixed on the airships. ¡°¡­You¡¯re right, of course.¡±


    ¡°Good.¡± Adrey backed up a step and spread her arms. ¡°How do I look?¡±


    Elaenie looked her disguise up and down. ¡°Like you scrape a living foraging in the forest.¡±


    Adrey allowed herself a satisfied smile and a little twirl. They¡¯d planned carefully for this. Her skirts were thorn-tattered and trail-dusty, her bonnet stained and sun-bleached, her pinny filthy from digging up fungi, and the basket on her back was appropriately full of truffles, morels, chanterelles, king bolette, yarrow, allium, hazelnut, nettle and wild mustard. Even her hands were appropriately hard and rough, thanks to a near-decade of knife fighting practice and other exercises that had quite callused her palms.


    The rest was expression and posture. She¡¯d seem like a young widow, recently bereaved and fallen on desperately hard times. There was, frankly, some danger that a guard or constable might try to take advantage of her, but the Oneists wouldn¡¯t. That part of their humanity had been stripped out, like so much else.


    No, the danger from them was that they¡¯d try to recruit her. But she had a cover story for that as well.


    Ellaenie gave that peculiar, tremulous nod that people did when girding their courage and committing. ¡°Well¡­I suppose you¡¯d better go.¡±


    ¡°I suppose so. Take care of Lisze for me.¡±


    ¡°And you take care of yourself for us.¡±


    They shared a long, tight hug. They hadn¡¯t got the chance, last time they parted, and this time they knew the value of such a parting. Then¡­it was over. Ellaenie took a deep breath, stepped back, and waved goodbye, and they turned away from each other and parted. Adrey had gone maybe twelve or fifteen steps when she heard a soft creaking and rustling. When she turned and looked back, the easy, broad trail they¡¯d followed through the woods was entirely impossible to see. And yet she couldn¡¯t identify what could have moved to hide it. Every branch, leaf, fern, stone and length of fallen deadwood seemed to be exactly where it had always been.


    Of Ellaenie, though, there was not even a rustle or footstep.


    ¡­Does she even fully understand just how magical she¡¯s become? Adrey asked herself.


    She wasn¡¯t sure if it was encouraging or terrifying. So, she put it from her mind, turned toward the city, and struck out for home.


    <hr>


    Six hours later, she was so footsore and stiff-legged despite taking a couple of good breaks that she didn¡¯t need to play-act a tired, pained gait. Crowns, to think there were people who really had to actually scrape a living like this¡­


    When she got her titles and county back, a lot more of Adrey¡¯s wealth and lands would be devoted to supporting the poor, she decided. Goodness, for the cost of a single seasonal ballgown that she¡¯d only wear once, she could have run a soup kitchen for the better part of a year! And the ingredients would have come from hard-working people who needed the money.


    All that was for the future, though. For now, she trudged wearily along the main road past the farmlands and livestock yards that formed the outermost ring of Auldenheigh¡¯s urban sprawl.


    This close, she could get a decent count of the Oneist airships, and the only conclusion she could draw was that Civorage must have sent every available ship to pacify the city. Formations of them patrolled above each district in V-shaped flights, and the air was thick with the scent of their engines and of minor bag leaks.


    The activity was no less thick on the ground. Any pretence at business as usual was long gone, now: Auldenheigh was under martial law, by ducal decree. If Adrey remembered her history lessons, the last time that measure had been taken was¡­hm¡­two hundred and eleven years ago, during the succession dispute that had ultimately seen Harol of Banmor, Ellaenie¡¯s ancestor, triumph over his rival, Eirich of House Thorpe.


    There had been heads lining the road on spikes in those days, Adrey recalled. Those, at least, were mercifully absent now, but in their place were figures in the rough white woollen robes of Circle novices, preaching by the roadside and loudly declaiming their past deeds and exhorting travellers to unburden themselves of loneliness and wickedness.


    She¡¯d almost have preferred heads on spikes. The guillotine held no particular fear for Adrey; an instant and painless execution seemed a better way to go than most of the alternatives. But to lose herself? To be transformed in mind and spirit? She understood why Lisze was finding it so hard. It wasn¡¯t just the false comfort she''d lost. She had awakened to fact of her complete violation, poor girl.


    No, on the whole Adrey would choose a swift death over the Circle. In fact, she sometimes wondered why humans didn¡¯t carry a vamdraech like the elves. Better suicide than Shade, surely?


    These and other such cheery thoughts were how she distracted herself from the pain in her feet and the weight of her foraged load as she limped up to the checkpoint at the city outskirts. Two small static balloons hung overhead with marksmen in the baskets, and between their tethers was a cordon and a team of soldiers. All were wearing the steel ring of the Circles, but they had the sharp, alert look that said these were free-minded collaborators.


    One of them waved her forward. ¡°Travel pass.¡±


    Adrey sighed, nodded, and went digging in her pockets. She didn¡¯t say anything. Skinner and his fellows had driven home to her again and again that the safest lie was always silence, and the second-safest was as few words as possible: blabber and bluster and fib, and you¡¯d slip up. Liars always offered long stories, whereas the truth was perfunctory.


    Of course, once she¡¯d learned that lesson they¡¯d taught her the art of obfuscation through gab and how to overwhelm with a wall of words to sell the impression of a scatterbrain. But that wouldn¡¯t fit this persona at all.


    She handed the papers over and settled the basket on her shoulders, waiting disinterestedly while staring off into the distance at nothing in particular. Just a disinterested civilian going through an unpleasant routine necessity. The guard glanced at her pass, looked her up and down, then handed the forged documents back and waved her through. Adrey muttered a silent, exhausted ¡®thank you¡¯ and trudged into the city. Only once she was well past the checkpoint did she permit himself a sigh of relief and let go of the tension in her shoulders. She was past the first hurdle.


    But far from the most dangerous.


    <hr>


    <blockquote>


    Contemporary example of a Yunei sword, created by an exiled smith according to the ¡°Proper Way.¡± The creator notes that the technique has remained unchanged for hundreds of years. The steel is of exceptional quality, but observe the shortness of the blade, which is a consequence of the fact that the average height of a Yunei man is 4¡¯6¡±. ¡ªNote on an exhibit in the Auldenheigh Armory Museum.


    </blockquote>


    <h2>Sword Practice</h2>


    On family estate, The Gate, Yonguitang Earthmote. 09.06.03.11.08


    Sword practice was a welcome change of pace. It was expected, Proper, and inescapably necessary that a man such as Deng-Nah should be competent with a blade, for his own safety and that of his family. Bodyguards were one line of defense, not the very last one, and Sho-Gong had taught him often that in an attack on his lord¡¯s life, the opening Sho-Gong created for Deng-Nah¡¯s blade might be the difference between life and death.


    All that was very rational, but Deng-Nah enjoyed sword practice for the simple fact of being free to move and exercise. Leaden though he felt from weeks of troubled sleep, his body was over-rested and screaming for activity. Indeed, the last time he¡¯d slept at all well had been after wearing himself out in training.


    He and Sho-Gong sparred in the sandy ring behind the house, and Deng-Nah felt alive for it. Maybe it was the sleeplessness or maybe he was simply in an appropriately meditative mood today, but the steps and motions of the sword dance came effortlessly to him. Each exchange passed without thought, in a blur of flashing steel and deft footfalls, only to end and he would start thinking again, listening, analysing, learning.


    Sho-Gong was a master, and had always been able to find something to improve before. Today, however, he simply smiled.


    ¡°Very good, my lord.¡±


    Deng-Nah rotated his shoulder and waggled his wrist a bit, loosening them up. ¡°I felt I was a bit slow getting the point back to your center line.¡±


    ¡°If so, I did not notice, lord. Either I am slowing down, or you are sharper than ever.¡±


    Nah sighed. ¡°I don¡¯t feel sharp, at the moment. I feel sluggish and heavy.¡±


    ¡°I see the weariness in your face, certainly. It is not weighing down your hands and feet though. You fight with the strength and speed of the Horned King.¡±


    ¡°¡­Thank you, Sho-Gong. Another round?¡±


    ¡°Maneuvers, my lord. Perhaps it is time to practice the Sleeping Bear.¡±


    Deng-Nah frowned at him. Had some rumor reached his bodyguard¡¯s ears, or was it just prudent revisitation of a past lesson that may have become rusty? The Sleeping Bear was the art of fending off an attacker who came in the night and tried to kill him in his bed.


    The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.


    It was true, they hadn¡¯t tried that in a while. And it was a nice warm day, the sand was dry¡­he nodded, and lay down, setting his sword to his right within arm¡¯s reach as Proper manner dictated.


    The lesson never started, however. Sho-Gong was stalking toward one corner of the square ready to begin when he abruptly stopped and scooted aside, bowing low.


    ¡°Deng-Nah.¡±


    Nah looked up, then swiftly rose to his feet. His father had joined them, wearing an almost imperceptible air of disapproval over something.


    ¡°Leave us,¡± he ordered Sho-Gong, who dipped even lower and scurried out.


    ¡°It is most pleasant to see you, Father. To what do I owe this honor?¡± Nah asked. He took up his discarded robe and shrugged it about his shoulders.


    ¡°This.¡± Deng-Li flourished a scroll. ¡°It was delivered to the house for your attention this morning.¡±


    Nah blinked, rather than dare a frown. It was¡­not improper for a father to read messages addressed to his son. But it was mildly insulting, suggesting that Li thought his son still an ungoverned youth rather than a Proper man.


    ¡°May I ask what it is?¡± he inquired.


    ¡°It is a report from the gate-garrison¡¯s scribe, describing the comings and goings of foreign ships.¡± Li brandished it again. ¡°for what do you send for such information, my son?¡±


    ¡°For the protection and glory of the divine Empire,¡± Nah replied, properly. Li frowned.


    ¡°Explain,¡± he said. Quite rudely, in fact. What was the matter with the old man? Nah felt his brow try to twitch downwards, but caught himself and suppressed his emotions.


    ¡°Forgive my questioning, father, but I was of the belief that dutiful service to His Majesty the Transcendent Emperor requires no explanation,¡± he said, levelly.


    It was a perfectly true, perfectly civil, perfectly polite and perfectly Proper thing to say. Why, then, did his father respond as though Nah had clenched his fist and snarled at him? Was the old man going senile?


    He quashed such thoughts at once. They were disloyal, and Improper.


    ¡°What you imply, my son,¡± Li replied, with forced evenness, ¡°is that the Empire has something to fear from the barbarians.¡±


    ¡°A naked brute armed only with a rock may dash out even the most enlightened lord¡¯s brains, father,¡± Nah replied, keeping his tone reasonable. ¡°Is it not dutiful to attend to the Empire¡¯s obvious superiority with diligence?¡±


    ¡°A fine argument. Why, then, be so secretive? And what of your dreams and paintings of foreigners, hmm?¡± Deng-Li did scowl. ¡°You pay attention to barbarians and elves in an unhealthy degree, Deng-Nah.¡±


    Honesty, then. ¡°I do not control my dreams any more than you, father. I can only do with them what seems Proper. That they are so vivid and insistent seems to me a warning.¡± Deng-Nah tugged tight the sash of his tunic with a rather more vicious motion than he¡¯d really intended. He was tense, he realized. His father¡¯s questions were bordering on accusation.


    An accusation of what, though?


    He took a deep breath and gathered himself. ¡°Father, I value your wisdom and insight. If you have some concern, then I would hear it so as to steer myself on the Proper path.¡±


    Deng-Li gave him a shaky look, then looked down at his feet. When he did speak, his voice was hoarse and choked. ¡°¡­What I am about to say,¡± he rasped, ¡°Is not to be heard by anyone else. Give me your word on it.¡±


    ¡°Father¡­you already have my word. I am your sworn man. I shall never betray your secrets, on my oath and honor.¡±


    Deng-Li nodded gravely, still not looking up. He shuffled his feet, cleared his throat, and straightened his shoulders. ¡°When your mother bled to death after birthing you despite the best efforts of the healers, I was¡­most badly affected,¡± he said, his mood suddenly softened. ¡°My¡­my troubled mind led me¡­to take Improper action. One unbefitting of our station. In my moment of weakness I succumbed to peasant superstition, and I¡­consulted a witch.¡±


    ¡°¡­Father¡ª¡±


    Deng-Li gave him a miserable look. ¡°Grief makes a man do foolish things, my son. I had just lost a very fine wife and¡­I wished to be sure that the heir she bore me would prosper. I wished to be sure that you would live a long and healthy life. And the witch assured me that, so far as her scrying of the future portended, you would at least grow to adulthood¡­¡±


    Deng-Nah tilted his head. ¡°How did you manage this?¡± he asked.


    Deng-Li shook his head. ¡°I manufactured some excuse to go beyond the gate. There was some visiting barbarian prince writing a silly book about his travels or some such nonsense,¡± he flapped a hand dismissively. ¡°The pretense of meeting him was sufficient to hide my meeting with the witch.¡±


    He shook his head in disgust. ¡°She wore the brand of exile as though proud of it. And she drank strange brews made of strange herbs, and rattled bones and hummed and sang over you. And she told me what I wished to hear, that you would be a strong child and grow into a strong man, and so you have. But¡­¡±


    ¡°¡­She also told you something else?¡±


    Deng-Li glanced sharply at him, then sighed and nodded. ¡°She told me,¡± he said, slowly, ¡°That when you were grown, you would¡­you would run away into exile yourself, of your own choosing.¡±


    Deng-Nah blinked at him. ¡°I cannot imagine doing such a thing!¡± he objected. ¡°I have duties, a fine wife, and an heir of my own on the way!¡±


    ¡°And yet¡­everything the witch predicted has come true so far. Your dreams of foreign faces, your sudden interest in what is happening outside the gate.¡± Deng-Li let out a shaky breath. ¡°I only hope¡­I do not believe in destiny, my son. I do not believe the future is set. I tell you this now in the hope of breaking that witch¡¯s prophecy. I beg you, when the choice is before you¡­stay. Do not dishonor your family, disgrace your wife and cast your unborn child down from their noble position.¡±


    ¡°Father,¡± Deng-Nah rushed forward and took the old man¡¯s shaking hand to steady it. ¡°I cannot conceive of anything that would persuade me to betray you so.¡±


    Deng-Li nodded miserably, then pressed the scroll from the gate scribe into Nah¡¯s hand. ¡°Remember those words when the inconceivable comes,¡± he said. Then he withdrew his hand, clapped Deng-Nah on the shoulder with it, gave him a deeply troubled look, and strode away.


    Deng-Nah was left alone with a head full of whirling confusion. No thoughts emerged from the maelstrom, nothing coherent he could latch onto.


    His hands unrolled the scroll automatically, without his conscious will, and his eyes scanned it for lack of anything else to do. It took a while before what he was seeing finally registered.


    ¡°What¡ª?¡±


    Yesterday there had been more than twenty ships in the port beyond the gate. Now, there were eleven. Overnight, the Clear Skies and Oneist ships had flown away.


    He didn¡¯t know why¡­but something about that fact made him suddenly and terribly afraid.


    <hr>


    <blockquote>


    As befits an insular culture, the Yunei have their own ways of depicting and referring to the Crowns and Heralds. It is deemed most Improper to speak the names of the ¡°beings of light¡± and so they are instead referrred to always by title: King E?rrach for instance is known as The Horned King, while his hounds are known as Dawn and Dusk, and play a pivotal role in teaching certain aspects of Yunei philosophy to children*.* Perhaps most interesting is Dragon, who played a pivotal role in liberating the Yunei from the Ordfey. The Yunei refer to her as ¡°The River of Heaven¡± or ¡°The Golden River¡± and her likeness is ubiquitous in Yunei art. Dragon in turn repays this special place of privilege by assuming a Yunei appearance when taking mortal form. ¡ªAnoloa Nwodike, The Crowns


    </blockquote>


    <h2>Coming in to land</h2>


    Airship Cavalier Queen, approaching Yonguitang Earthmote 09.06.03.11.11


    Jerl had never much bothered to look at Yonguitang Earthmore before. What point was there? He knew it only as an asymmetrical, vaguely K-shaped mote. Its only relevance for a non-Yunei shipman was that if one followed the line of Yonguitang¡¯s flat trailing edge to dexter, it reliably pointed the way to a lesser mote named Navirin, whose people farmed coffee, silk and sugar, traded it with all comers, and largely didn¡¯t bother anyone.


    Yonguitang itself? Up until now, there had never been a reason for him to consider going there.


    Now, over the past few days that distant warped K in the sky had flattened out before him, and become a vast and mountainous country not all that much smaller than Garanhir, and he was heading for the sinister end of the trailing edge, and The Gate.


    ¡°Coming up on the first beacon, skipper. They¡¯ve run up a signal for us,¡± Gebby called from the wheelhouse.


    ¡°Thank you, Gebby!¡± Jerl pulled out his telescope and took a good look, feeling a sudden nervous pulse in his chest. If something went awry here¡­


    But no. The flags trailing in the breeze were an invitation to continue on course at slow speed, angling downwards on a shallow approach. He took out his signal mirror, flashed an acknowledgement, and trotted up to the wheelhouse to get ready for arrival.


    A brief roll of turbulence signalled the moment they cleared through some lurking weather and out into open air. As they did so, the cloud banks rolled back and Jerl saw The Gate laid out below, just as he¡¯d envisioned in his mind¡¯s eye from studying the map back at the Thundering Hall. Though in truth, the reality was more impressive than he¡¯d imagined.


    The wall and gate for which the city was named were huge and ornate. The wall itself, which cut right through the middle, was a fortification fit to dissuade anyone who didn¡¯t have a death wish, encrusted as it was with machicolations and jutting towers from which the defenders would have no trouble catching attackers at the wall¡¯s base in enfilade¡­though from this angle, Jerl could see very clearly that those towers were not topped with any kind of anti-air weaponry. Militarily, the wall was thoroughly obsolete.


    As a work of art, on the other hand, it was breathtaking. The entire outward-facing surface seemed to be a bas-relief testament to the glory of the Yunei Empire, laid out beneath the swooping, sinuous likeness of Dragon herself. Vast portions of the stonework had been gilded, and several details of the sculpture-work had been picked out with jade or other precious stones. Even the tops of the guard towers were roofed with swooping gables and planted with small, twisted decorative junipers, accented by lacquered wood and hung with lanterns and wind chimes.


    The statement was obvious: Here is the Yunei Empire. Beyond is a land of wonders, riches and artistry, and we shall deign to allow you a glimpse of its very hem. But you cannot enter.


    The foreign enclave had made a decent attempt to answer the grandeur, Jerl thought. The buildings were nothing exceptional, being brick-built and tile-roofed, but they were tasteful, and served as the pleasant backdrop for bunting, banners, lightstone strings and flower displays. He found himself looking forward to getting down among them and seeing what it all looked like up close.


    Well¡­except for one building. There, smack dead in the center of town, was a Circle under construction. The completed sections of wall, bare and smooth and undecorated, were an eye-catching soulless blot in an otherwise merry riot of messy color.


    Funny, though. The dock was certainly oversized for the number of ships currently present. There were about a dozen or so, all freemerchants so far as he could tell, and all rather elderly at that. There wasn¡¯t a Oneist airship anywhere in the sky about them, tnor any Clear Skies Guild blue-and-white livery. Curious, for a town with a Circle. Many of the old ships still had sails rather than engines, or antiquated balloon bags and ¡°onion net¡± envelopes. The Queen looked to be the largest, youngest and best-appointed ship in the harbour, as Gebby spiralled her expertly down the approach toward a mooring platform right on the earthmote¡¯s edge.


    He always had been an exceptionally deft touch. The dockers didn¡¯t even need to send out a wing crew, Gebby came close enough for the lines to be thrown by hand, and with a familiar series of work shanties, creaks, rattles and hefty clunking noises, the Queen settled into a cradle, the bolt was driven through the keel, and Marren¡¯s riggers started bleeding bag gas off into storage. A textbook landing.


    ¡°Docking at an actual cradle. Been a while since we did that, nay?¡± Sin commented as she appeared at Jerl¡¯s elbow.


    Jerl snorted. ¡°Let¡¯s hope it doesn¡¯t turn out like Long Drop.¡±


    ¡°Eh, Long Drop wasn¡¯t so bad. For me, anyway. I guess you going through that nasty first time around might have left an impression.¡±


    ¡°This is the first time around here, Sin.¡±


    ¡°¡­Right. Guess I¡¯ll stay on my guard.¡±


    ¡°When do you not?¡±


    She snorted and shrugged. ¡°I mean, have you seen Derghan¡¯s butt? Hard to concentrate when he¡¯s walking in front of me.¡±


    Jerl laughed. ¡°Hah! I prefer Mouse¡¯s, but fair.¡±


    He received a light punch in the arm from Mouse for that, but it was all in good fun.


    There was a delegation already forming on the quayside as the ramp extended. Jerl had been expecting a Yunei official of some sort, and there were indeed Yunei among the group¡­but they were all exile-branded. Meanwhile, the unbranded woman standing tall among the dwarves as she waited for him must surely be of mixed heritage. She offered him a tight, professional smile and flipped a clipboard and pen into position.


    ¡°Welcome to the Gate,¡± she said. ¡°I¡¯m harbourmaster Limei Brecks.¡±


    ¡°Jerl Holten, freemerchant. This is the Cavalier Queen.¡± Jerl shook her hand, indicating over his shoulder with a tilt of his head.


    ¡°Your first time here?¡± she asked, as her pen started to scratch out his details on the form.


    ¡°First and only, most likely.¡±


    ¡°Importing or exporting?¡±


    ¡°Little of both.¡± He gestured to Sin, whom several of the locals were staring at. He got the impression most of them had never seen an elf before. ¡°This is Sinikka Nerissith, my quartermaster. She¡¯ll handle the details.¡±


    Brecks nodded. ¡°Very good. Berth fees are standard as laid out by the Guilds Agreement, import tariff is two point two percent, export is three percent. You¡¯re a powered brig¡ªten guns?¡±


    ¡°Yes? I¡­didn¡¯t know there was a gun tax at this port.¡±


    ¡°There isn¡¯t. But by decree of Lord Deng-Nah On, the armament of all ships making port is to be recorded. Could be he¡¯ll announce one soon¡­if so, you got here just in time.¡±


    ¡°We have a Guild navigator and the latest almanacs,¡± Sin chimed in. ¡°We¡¯re willing to trade data for a favorable rate.¡±


    Brecks looked very interested indeed, though she maintained professional composure. ¡°In that case...¡± she turned and spoke a few words in the Yunei language to the man beside her with an abacus. He rattled the beads back and forth for a few seconds, rattled off an answer, and Brecks nodded. ¡°Twenty-four brass and nine steel for a week at berth, increasing to five brass per day thereafter.¡±


    ¡°We don¡¯t expect to be here a whole week,¡± Sin replied.


    ¡°In that case, the daily rate is four brass¡­¡±


    ¡°Three and sixteen,¡± Sin counter-offered.


    ¡°Three-and-twenty.¡±


    Sin nodded, counted out the coins and handed them to Jerl, who handed them to Brecks, who handed them to one of her attendants.


    ¡°Very good, captain. A few notes on local laws and customs you should be aware of: The Yunei Empire considers this side of the wall to be a lawless enclave. Indeed, they only tolerate us as a necessary dumping ground for exiles. Among ourselves, we go by ¡®Out-Town¡¯ and maintain our own laws, enforcement and services. You are strongly advised not to approach or attempt to bypass the wall and the gate: the penalty for trespassing in the Yunei Empire is death, and the execution method is, uh, designed to serve as a deterrent.¡±


    ¡°I get the picture.¡±


    Brecks nodded grimly. ¡°I note you have a lot of elves on your crew. They especially should stay away from the wall, as the Imperial Army are under strict orders to kill elves on sight.¡±


    ¡°Unprovoked?¡±


    Brecks shrugged. ¡°The history of the Ordfey is deemed to be provocation enough. In any case, Just..stay away from the wall. It¡¯s easiest for everyone.¡±


    ¡°And what if I needed to speak with Lord Deng-Nah On?¡± Jerl asked. Brecks looked like she was about to laugh at his joke, then faltered when she sensed he wasn¡¯t joking.


    ¡°I¡­well. That¡¯s almost unheard of. I think his father deigned to give Prince Ruber of Valai a brief meeting once, but as a rule¡­you have to remember, as far as the Empire is officially concerned, the world is stratified into the Proper people at the top, with less Proper people below them, criminal exiles below them, foreigners like you and me below the exiles, then beasts, pond scum...and elves.¡± She gave Sin an apologetic shrug.


    Sin just shrugged back.


    ¡°¡­How did Prince Ruber manage it?¡± Jerl asked.


    ¡°I really don¡¯t know. You¡¯d need the patronage of a well-regarded and Proper person, I think.¡±


    Jerl nodded. ¡°Well, anyway. Thank you, harbourmaster. I suppose we¡¯ll go looking for our buyer now.¡±


    Brecks nodded and tucked away her clipboard. ¡°If you have any more questions, the harbourmasters¡¯ offices are on Second Street, toward the Dexter end. Welcome to the Gate,¡± she said. She dipped a small Yunei-style bow, then turned and led her entourage away.


    Sin leaned over to lower her voice. ¡°Guess it¡¯s time to start working on a plan,¡± she suggested.


    ¡°I¡¯m working on one. For now¡­let¡¯s do like we said to the harbourmaster and go find a buyer. May as well offload the last of our Winter Bazaar cargo. Mouse?¡±


    Mouse looked up and hopped down off the crate he¡¯d been lurking on, forgotten and ignored. He and Jerl shared a small smirk at the by-now familiar way Sin jumped and blinked as she remembered his existence. ¡°Find a way past the wall?¡±


    ¡°Think you can do it?¡±


    ¡°One I can use? Easy. One you can use¡­little trickier.¡± He flashed a grin and shrugged. ¡°We¡¯ll see.¡±


    Jerl returned his grin, then turned back toward his ship. By reputation, he knew he wouldn¡¯t get good prices for his wares here. The Gate was a place where exiles left Yonguitang, and the few who clung on generated neither resources nor luxuries, so they had little wealth. Still, there was some kind of an economy here, and Jerl was no longer looking for the best deal, just for something to keep him and his crew plausibly busy while they planned and prepared. Thanks to Sayf¡¯s generosity, funds were no longer an issue.


    He was back on the right course, though, he could feel it. Time was thrumming somehow inside him, giving him a sense of anticipation. Something pivotal was coming.


    He wondered what it might be.


    <hr>


    <blockquote>


    BY ORDER OF THE DUKESMOOT Due to the recent terrorist attack, a curfew is in effect. All citizens abroad from the second hour after nightfall until one hour before dawn must show a work pass. Passes can be acquired from your local constabulary precinct, or from Town Hall. Curfew breakers will be detained for questioning, and may face fines or imprisonment. REWARD OF 5 SILVER GUILDMARKS FOR INFORMATION LEADING TO THE CAPTURE OF TERRORISTS. ¡ªNotice posted in Auldenheigh


    </blockquote>


    <h2>Trying to make contact</h2>


    Hatpin Safehouse, Auldenheigh, Enerlend, Garanhir 09.06.03.11.11


    More than a week on from her return to the city and Adrey still hadn¡¯t made contact with the Blackdrake network or any other resistance element, and that was starting to get very worrying indeed.


    ¡°Hatpin¡± Safehouse was named for an in-joke between herself and Mister Skinner, who¡¯d taken to calling the slim stiletto daggers she wore under her skirts ¡°her ladyship¡¯s hatpins¡± during their training. To him and him alone, it was a hint as to her identity. To everyone else in the network or to a Oneist intercepting her dead drops, it was just another random word.


    Now, Adrey was beginning to worry perhaps Skinner had been captured and become One. If he had, then her little shibboleth would have been a mistake. But that was the problem with a foe who learned everything their enemies knew upon capture, instantly and effortlessly.


    The safehouse itself was nothing much, just a room at a small, affordable boarding house for women, on Wells Street in Porterlands. She¡¯d rented it using the clothes, money and documents she¡¯d smuggled into the city in her mushroom basket, under the name Mrs. Adelia Rubb.


    The Proprietress, a Miss Esme Brooknetter, was about the most formidable creature Adrey had ever met: taller even than Adrey herself, thin as a willow switch, tough as the boot leather she so strongly resembled, and icily hostile to anything remotely male. She¡¯d made it plain to Adrey that the merest hint of a ¡°gentleman guest¡± in the night would be grounds for her to be ejected without the return of any outstanding balance on the room. She¡¯d even reacted with sniffy disdain when ¡®Adelia¡¯ stammeringly explained that she was happily married.


    ¡°Well, I ¡®ope ¡®yer not expectin¡¯ Mister Rubb to join you ¡®ere,¡± she said.


    ¡®Adelia¡¯ had hastily and rapidly shaken her head. ¡°N-no, ma¡¯am.¡±


    The use of this meek honorific had softened Miss Brooknetter somewhat, and she¡¯d gone on to get Adrey settled in to a surprisingly well-appointed bedroom, clearly furnished with third-hand castoffs from the nobility, and instructed her as to the exceedingly tight dinner and bathroom schedule.


    And after that, Adrey had been left to her own devices. Fortunately, she had business to keep her busy and out of the boarding house most of the day.


    First she took a membership at a local gymnasium and swimming baths which, again, exclusively permitted only women. It served the double purpose of keeping her in fighting trim, and giving her somewhere to change outfits. Not entirely ideal, as if anyone noted her leaving in a completely different persona than she arrived then there might be talk, but it would serve for getting started.


    Second and more dangerous was the need to make contact. After a month away and with the city so heavily locked down, there was every possibility that some or even all of the dead drops were compromised, or that the enemy knew their codes. There were plans and procedures in place for all of that, of course, but if any of the drops was being actively watched¡­


    Nothing for it. Adrey wrote out two notes in code. The content was quite simple¡ª¡°*Returning agent has established ¡°Hatpin¡± safehouse, wants to come back in. Request verification and collection.¡°¡ª*followed by a unique checksum pairing each drop location to the one she would use for replies. She used dead drops miles away from the boarding house, but not from each other.


    Paranoia, paranoia, paranoia. And it would never quite be watertight no matter what they did, because if Adrey could remember all these details, then so too could a Oneist agent who ransacked her mind. But what else was there to do but take the risk and try?


    Now, after a week with no contact, she was seriously starting to worry that she should move and establish a new house. But she wasn¡¯t panicking yet. She helped Mrs. Brooknetter with the washing up after breakfast, then left citing her continuing need to find work, and walked the two miles or so over to her receiving drop locations.


    This time, there were notes. Each with the correct marks and checks, at the correct sights, neither containing an alarm signal: ¡°Request acknowledged. Welcome back.¡±


    The rest of the notes were a string of coded instructions to the effect that if she wanted to come in then she should sit on a bench at the Ropely Park tram stop, twenty-three minutes before nightfall that very night, and which of several pre-arranged phrases she should use to identify herself.


    Well¡­if this was a trap, then the resistance was so thoroughly compromised as to effectively make her a dead woman walking. She just had to have faith that it wasn¡¯t, she supposed, and hope that Prince Sayf or somebody would have told her if she was walking into such peril.


    ¡­Yes. Somehow, she felt confident he would have let her know. He loved Ellaenie too much to do otherwise.


    It was this thought alone that gave her the courage to go to the meeting. She sat on the bench dressed in her ¡®neutral¡¯ persona, a well-to-do lady of the lower gentility, at exactly twenty-three to dark. She fussed with her bag and skirts to hide her nerves, and tried not to probe at the hard lump of the cyanide pill tucked between her back teeth and her cheek.


    Two minutes after she sat down, a tram rolled in, offloaded a few passengers, then rolled away again. One of the passengers, a slim and dapper young man in nicely tailored clothes, approached the bench.


    ¡°Do you mind if I sit here, madam?¡±


    ¡°Not at all.¡±


    He smiled, tipped his hat, and sat. After a second of getting comfortable he frowned and peered about. ¡°¡­This is Emlidge Road isn¡¯t it?¡±


    Adrey shook her head, heart pounding, and gave the correct response. ¡°Sorry. You must have forgotten your glasses.¡±


    ¡°Oh, damn. Sorry to bother you, madam.¡± He rose and bustled off through the park. As he went, he left behind a slip of paper which Adrey slipped under her purse. She gave it a minute or so for people to move on, then discreetly read it.


    ¡°Board the next tram. Get off at the stop I mentioned and go into the pub. Ask for James.¡±


    She obeyed. It was only three stops from Ropely Park to Emlidge Road, but they passed like a glacial year, made doubly tense and claustrophobic by the fact that she was in an enclosed space with only two easily controlled exits¡­


    Nothing happened. She alighted safely at Emlidge Road, and sure enough there was a pub right over the road, the Hunting Hounds Inn. The sign swinging above the door depicted Maicoh and Maingan. She trotted across the road, in through the door, and found herself in a nicely appointed place with several large kegs behind the bar being tended by a freckled, rather zaftig young woman with blonde hair, who looked up and gave Adrey a smile as she entered. ¡°Hello, miss!¡±


    ¡°Ah, hello,¡± Adrey replied. ¡°Is James here today?¡±


    She smiled and nodded. ¡°¡¯e¡¯s by the fire in the lounge room, just over there, miss.¡±


    Adrey thanked her, resisted the urge to take a deep breath, and headed through toward the lounge.


    A movement in the corner of her eye caught her attention as he passed the front door. Two men she vaguely remembered seeing on the tram were crossing the road, heading for the Hunting Hounds with a little too much purpose to be just coming in for a pint.


    Shit.


    Rather than enter the lounge, she slipped sideways down the narrow space between the bar and a wall where a small brass sign discreetly indicated the water closet may be found. She found the back door and slipped out into the alley where she found herself squeezed between the wall and the mass of a brewer¡¯s wagon. A man in a flat cap blinked down at her in surprise from the driver¡¯s seat. She blinked back, equally surprised to see him there.


    Then the door latch behind her clicked. In one smooth, well-practiced movement she dipped in her pocket, drew steel, turned, took the merest shaving of a second to assess¡ª


    The first of the two men who¡¯d followed her into the bar didn¡¯t have time to do more than widen his eyes as her knife passed cleanly through the front of his throat and up into his brain. He twitched and fell stone dead, dropping the pistol he¡¯d been in the middle of drawing from his coat.


    She twirled around the falling man like she was dancing a violent allemande, seized his companion¡¯s gun hand around the wrist to force it out of the way, and drove one of her ¡®hatpins¡¯ between his ribs with terrible accuracy. He uttered a quiet ¡°oof!¡± as it pierced his heart, blinked at her in astonishment, and then folded up bonelessly at her feet. Adrey confiscated the pistol as he collapsed, and aimed it back into the pub for a moment in case anyone else was coming.


    There was a moment of terrible stillness. It started to dawn on her that she¡¯d just killed, for the very first time in her life. Two men were dead by her hand, and the most she felt about it was mild surprise at how easy it had been. Her gun hand wasn¡¯t trembling in the least bit.


    ¡°¡­Nicely done,¡± Skinner commented from up on the wagon. ¡°Think ye¡¯d best get up here and we¡¯d best be off.¡±


    ¡°Right.¡± Adrey tucked the stolen pistol into her belt at the small of her back, under her coat. She retrieved her blades, gave them a brisk wipe clean on their victims¡¯ clothes, and climbed up alongside him. ¡°It¡¯s good to see you again.¡±


    ¡°And you, but that was too bloody close.¡± He twitched the reins and the placid draft horse who¡¯d stood quietly through the double murder grumbled deep in his belly before plodding forward.


    ¡°I take it we¡¯re compromised, somewhere.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, but it¡¯s not a disaster. Not yet. Get that bloody pill out y¡¯mouth, would ya? Can¡¯t have you accidentally crunchin¡¯ it just as we got you back.¡±


    Adrey nodded, and gratefully spat the little rubber-coated pellet into her palm. ¡°Better that than Encircled,¡± she said.


    ¡°True. Bloody true. ¡®Ere. Check behind ¡®yer seat. You¡¯ll find somethin¡¯ to make you look a bit more like you belong on this heap.¡±


    Adrey nodded, turned, and found a voluminous brown man¡¯s raincoat and flat cap. With them on, she¡¯d pass for a tall and beardless boy, from a distance. She shrugged into them as Skinner encouraged the horse up to a lumbering trot, and they rolled away toward the warehouse district.


    ¡°So,¡± she said, as she settled in for the ride. ¡°Tell me what¡¯s been happening.¡±


    <hr>


    <blockquote>


    ¡°Salt pork, peas, beans, ship¡¯s biscuit and a ration of small beer, cooked slow in the casserole pot. That¡¯s the airman¡¯s stew, lad, an¡¯ you¡¯ll eat it twice a day aboard ship. By the Crowns, you get sick of it during a long haul! But the worst part is, after you¡¯re retired from the life, you¡¯ll sometimes find yourself hankering for a bowl¡­¡± ¡ªOverheard in the Rosehip Inn, Cantre


    </blockquote>


    <h2>Doing business</h2>


    The Gate, Yonguitang Earthmote 09.06.03.11.12


    ¡°I understand they look small, of course, but I¡¯ve read enough about Yonguitang to know she has a sopping wet season, and that she bobs low enough for snow at some ends of the year. This is ithmink pelts, the snow elf Sets trap and farm them ¡®cuz they¡¯re the very best fur you can get. Those little beasts can¡¯t afford to ever get wet to the skin, so the fur is both warm and perfectly waterproof. And, as a bonus, look at that color! The posh noblewomen up on Garanhir love it!¡±


    Jerl grinned as the merchant gave his crate of furs an uncertain glance. He was in his element right now. Haggling and pattering and bullshitting his way through a sale? What could be better?!


    ¡°If it¡¯s that great, why sell it here so cheap?¡± the merchant asked.


    ¡°Oh, well. The Oneists have locked down Auldenheigh and they¡¯re only letting their Clear Skies friends do business,¡± Jerl explained. ¡°Us freemerchants are running out of independent harbors. I¡¯m not selling at a loss here, but I tell you, if I was to let it go for these prices up in Antage or a major Guild hub? They¡¯d think I was cracked.¡±


    The merchant stroked his chin, then shrugged and nodded. ¡°You said thirty for the whole crate?¡±


    ¡°Thirty-eight,¡± Jerl answered, having first said forty.


    ¡°I¡¯ll give you thirty-two.¡±


    ¡°Can¡¯t quite go that low, friend. Settle on thirty-six?¡±


    ¡°¡­Done.¡±


    They shook on it, a neat roll of coins was counted into Jerl¡¯s palm, and the merchant¡¯s two strapping young helpers hoisted the crate onto a litter and trotted away after him. The merchant was grinning: so was Jerl. He¡¯d written that crate off as a complete loss, so walking away with a profit, even a narrowish one, was quite alright by him. That one crate of furs would keep them in hard tack, dried peas and salt pork for a couple of months.


    Or, the local equivalent, anyway. Sin had been restocking their provisions with what looked to be mostly rice, beans and smoked eels. Jerl wondered where it came from: the foreigners¡¯ side of the Gate had a small strip of arable land and rice paddies, but no river. From what he could tell, the people here got their water from collecting the rain. It didn¡¯t seem like enough farmland to keep everyone fed, and yet food was abundant enough to buy for reasonable prices.


    Perhaps the wall didn¡¯t separate one side from the other as completely as was advertised. On that thought, Mouse had slipped away to explore, and had been gone for several hours at this point. Jerl wasn¡¯t worried: if anything happened, he¡¯d know thanks to Mind.


    He was musing on these thoughts when Harad slipped out of the shadows among some nearby crates and barrels to walk with him. Jerl still didn¡¯t quite know what to make of the intense R¨¹wyrdan warrior. He was fairly sure he¡¯d been on the receiving end of the closest thing to approval the dark-mooded bastard ever gave, but except on that one occasion, Harad had been closed and grim.


    He had a disconcerting habit of picking up conversations without preamble, and ending them without pleasantries.


    ¡°Nothing,¡± he said.


    Jerl restrained himself, with an effort, from asking the redundant questions. He knew where Harad had been and what he was referring to: he¡¯d scouted the Circle building in the middle of Out-Town. Anyone else, and Jerl might have asked something like ¡®you¡¯re sure?¡¯ or ¡®you checked thoroughly?¡¯ or even ¡®did you find any clues to where the¡¯ve gone?¡¯ But Harad, he knew for a fact, would have been entirely thorough, and wouldn¡¯t have reported ¡®nothing¡¯ if he had in fact found something.


    He was a tough elf to converse with. Asking for his thoughts was redundant, because if he had any he would have shared them. How did one¡­actually talk to somebody without all the meaningless back-and-forth of saying aloud what both parties already knew?


    ¡­Well¡­


    ¡°There¡¯s a bloody great stone building there, Harad. I doubt you found exactly nothing.¡±


    ¡°True. Things were put away correctly. Tools stowed, fires put out neatly, beds made, unfinished construction covered with oilcloths. They left in an orderly manner.¡±


    ¡°Meaning they weren¡¯t run out of town¡­¡± Jerl mused to himself. ¡°I don¡¯t like that. Why would Civorage just up and abandon a half-built Circle?¡±


    Harad shrugged. ¡°I see two options. Either he needed the people elsewhere, or he knew we were coming here and has withdrawn them to lay an ambush.¡±


    ¡°Not an effective ambush if there¡¯s a clear sign that they were here,¡± Jerl noted.


    ¡°Sometimes, leaving spoor to lure a tracker in is the perfect setup for ambush. What does Time tell you about the future?¡±


    Jerl shook his head. ¡°The future isn¡¯t real,¡± he said. ¡°It¡¯s a series of ¡®what-could-be¡¯ that I glimpsed in its entirety, once, in the full flourish of the Word¡¯s power, and promptly forgot to spare my sanity. When the Word tells me something, it¡¯s really just me remembering the things I allowed myself to keep. And I think I was quite judicious with what I kept. I didn¡¯t warn myself about the attack on the Thundering Hall, afte all¡­¡±


    Harad gave him a furrowed brow. ¡°You are an odd creature, Holten. You seem afraid of your own power.¡±


    ¡°Well, I have the example of elves to remind me why I should be.¡±


    Harad¡¯s lip twitched. Jerl couldn¡¯t tell if he was stung, or amused.


    ¡°Besides,¡± Jerl added. ¡°My head¡¯s not big enough to contain all possible futures. I¡¯d go mad, and then I¡¯d be no good to anyone. Don¡¯t worry, though: we can¡¯t lose.¡±


    ¡°Hmmf! Musen Ordfey erenan, retratemha.¡±


    ¡°I bet they did, but they didn¡¯t have Time on their side. They couldn¡¯t undo their failures and mistakes¡­thank the Crowns.¡±


    Harad grunted. ¡°I will watch the skies,¡± he declared, and jogged up the gangplank without ceremony or preamble. Jerl was still shaking his head over the abrupt departure when an arm slipped through his.


    ¡°Hi.¡±


    Jerl turned and gave Mouse a kiss. ¡°You¡¯re back!¡±


    ¡°Of course.¡± Mouse grinned at him, then nodded a head toward the wall. ¡°Wanna hear about my adventures?¡±


    Jerl pulled up a box and sat down attentively. He wasn¡¯t worried about being overheard: Mouse would know if they were. ¡°So what¡¯s the verdict?¡±


    Mouse perched opposite on a barrel. ¡°I did some asking around. Turns out, some Yunei beyond the wall send shipments of basic food and supplies to exiled family members. It¡¯s¡­¡¯Improper,¡¯ but not unforgivable among low-caste families.¡±


    ¡°Alright¡­¡± Jerl nodded, ¡°But¡­how? If they¡¯re forbidden from leaving, and the exiles are forbidden from returning¡­¡±


    Mouse grinned. ¡°There¡¯s a weakness. You can¡¯t see it from the air, but there¡¯s a drain running under the wall, just like the aqueduct to Civorage¡¯s palace back in Long Drop. Families in the empire drop a little boat made of rice straw in the water and it carries parcels to this side. In fact, there¡¯s more than one drain. I counted four.¡±


    ¡°Oh, no. Not again?¡± Jerl shivered involuntarily at the memory of the wet, cold, claustrophobic experience that had been his last time traversing an underground water course.


    Mouse chuckled. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, I already went in that way so you don¡¯t have to. Let me tell you what I found¡­


    <hr>


    There was a peasant woman humming to herself as she packed bundles of rice and cloth into a woven straw boat. She looked up in surprise and alarm as Mouse emerged from the water, then¡ª*Leave Me Alone¡ª*she promptly went glassy-eyed and forgetful, and returned to her work and humming.


    Mouse slipped away into the cover of a nearby alleyway, and concentrated. He¡¯d spent time with Amir while the Queen was in flight, having found that Mind gave him a serious advantage when it came to learning magic. He could see and feel Amir¡¯s understanding of the Art, and gain from it. And the navigator knew some very useful spells.


    For example: one to force most of the water out of soaking clothes, and then evaporate the lingering dampness to steam. Once that was done, he stepped out of the alley and ambled quietly through the crowd of people going about their daily lives. He felt attention slip and slide off him like water off a duck, and nobody around him reacted to his presence in any way besides unconsciously moving aside as though he was just another face in the crowd.


    No other thief could have done this, he reflected. Stealth wasn¡¯t just a matter of moving quietly and staying out of sight, you had to belong. You couldn¡¯t get lost in the crowd if you didn¡¯t look like part of it, and Mouse stood more than head and shoulders above this crowd. Not to mention that he was blond of hair and clearly Garanese.


    No, without the Word, this would have been over already, the moment that peasant woman saw him. Instead, he stepped aside and watched five soldiers pass. Their armor and weapons were unfamiliar, but the banter was universal. He didn¡¯t speak their language, but thanks to Mind he still understood the thrust of ther exchange. <teasing about a romantic encounter>; <embarrassed defense of the girl¡¯s dignity>; <ribald suggestion>; <retort involving a close female relative> and so on.


    The sound of laughter followed them around the corner. None of them had even glanced in Mouse¡¯s direction.


    With such freedom, it wasn¡¯t long before he found the compound marked on Prince Sayf¡¯s map as the On family estate. He had to allow, what the map hadn¡¯t conveyed was how well-protected it was. The garden walls had undulating backs designed to evoke Dragon¡¯s legendary sinuosity, and the decorative tilework on top made for a tricky overhang with no good place to grip, and very possibly the tiles were supposed to slip off with a loud clatter should a climber try to hang from them. Mouse could see the sculpted tops of ornamental trees within the perimeter, but nothing stood outside the wall except for patrolling guards.


    The front gate was a wide circle, large enough for a horse and carriage to fit through comfortably. There was an identical gate at the far side, when he explored that way, and also a wide square gate tucked close to one of the buildings. That, Mouse guessed, would be for servants and goods.


    Three gates. This place wasn¡¯t built to withstand a siege, but with even the kitchen entrance guarded it was certainly enough to keep out an ordinary cracksman or budge. And while the power to be ignored was useful, it was of no help here.


    Civorage, he guessed, would have just dominated the guards¡¯ minds and compelled them to open the way for him. But Mouse was resolute on one point above all others: he was not Civorage, and wasn¡¯t going to use Mind that way.


    Well. He¡¯d completed his casing of the place, so far as he could right now. He retraced his steps to the drain, making careful note of not only the swiftest direct route, but also any opportunities along the way to lose a pursuit if somebody turned out to be immune to his powers. This time, an old man was loading a small basket full of mushrooms into one of the reed boats to float downstream. He ignored Mouse entirely as Mouse stooped, crawled into the drain, and started the slow, cramped crawl back to the far side of the walls.


    Elbow and knee wrappings. Going to need those. Crawling was hard on joints.


    He reached the Out-Town side, stood, reminded a staring civilian to forget he existed, and slipped away back toward the Queen.


    <hr>


    Jerl nodded as Mouse finished his report. ¡°I don¡¯t see how I¡¯m gonna get in there with you. Not unless I fly the Queen over the walls, and that¡¯d be kinda¡­¡±


    ¡°Unsubtle.¡± Mouse smirked. ¡°Don¡¯t bother. I can get the vault myself. I just need a dark, dry night and some of my tools.¡±


    Jerl nodded. ¡°And what do we do in the meantime?¡±


    ¡°You keep the ship ready to go. I can¡¯t stop them from noticing their treasure¡¯s missing, so we need to be ready to leave as soon as I get back.¡±


    ¡°Okay.¡± Jerl nodded and stood. ¡°Tomorrow night, then. That¡¯s the earliest we can be ready by.¡±


    ¡°Works for me. I gotta get ready anyway,¡± Mouse agreed.


    ¡°Do you need a distraction or anything¡­?¡± Jerl ventured.


    Mouse chuckled. ¡°Nope. What I need is for it to be an ordinary, boring, routine night on the job for the guards. You just relax and let me do what I do, okay?¡±


    ¡°¡­Okay.¡± Jerl nodded. ¡°I just¡­I¡¯m getting a foreboding.¡±


    ¡°Of what?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know yet. The Oneists packing up and leaving suddenly has me on edge. I keep wondering when they¡¯ll come back.¡±


    ¡°All the more reason to get this done quick and quiet, as soon as possible.¡±


    ¡°Yeah. Just¡­be careful. Time isn¡¯t giving me anything specific, but it still feels¡­unquiet, somehow.¡±


    Mouse nodded, gave him a kiss, and trotted up the ramp. ¡°I¡¯m always careful,¡± he promised.


    ¡°I know.¡± Jerl watched him go, then sighed, rubbed his hands, and looked about. There was much still to prepare before the heist, and even with everything in place, there was always the chance of something going awry. What if Mouse met an obstacle he couldn¡¯t pass immediately and needed a third infiltration to complete the job? Or a fourth? What if it rained tomorrow night and the drain wasn¡¯t usable?


    Ridiculous to worry. What would happen, would happen.


    But somehow, he was certain it wouldn¡¯t happen quite how they expected

 Chapter 18: Gatecrashing (pt.2)

    <blockquote>


    "Scrub-a-dub my little crew, the skies are wide and blue,


    Daddy sails the clouds so high, with treasures bright and true!


    Away he goes on winds so strong to lands of gold and cheer,


    But he¡¯ll be back before too long with wealth to share, my dear!" ¡ªGaranese bathtime song


    </blockquote>


    <h2>A hot bath</h2>


    On Family estate, The Gate, the Yunei Empire 09.06.03.11.12


    There was, of course, a Proper way to draw a bath, and Deng-Nah¡¯s servants had followed it perfectly. The water was painfully hot when he first sank into it, so that he had to do so slowly and with held breath¡­but it was just on the right side of painful, and the feeling of being cooked relaxed into a deep pleasure.


    Deng-Nah, of course, had followed the Proper way to prepare for his bath. He had already soaped and cleansed vigorously from a bucket of lukewarm water, lathered and rinsed and combed his hair, and scrubbed himself from toes to nose. He was clean already. The point of the bath at this point was to relax and settle him, and hopefully allow decent sleep.


    Di-Ha smiled at him as she settled in opposite, her own hair falling in loose wet cascades over her shoulders. He¡¯d rarely seen her with her hair down or her face bare of makeup, nor with her skin flushed red and shining from the heat. She looked radiant.


    ¡°There,¡± she said. ¡°I think I can hear your muscles sighing with relief.¡±


    Deng-Nah nodded and settled down against the edge of the bath with a groan. ¡°I¡­hah. I don¡¯t think I knew how tense I¡¯d become,¡± he acknowledged.


    ¡°Turn around and come here,¡± she instructed. Deng-Nah opened an eye to arch an eyebrow at her, then obeyed her command. She put her hands to his shoulders and guiding him into position, leaning him back so that his head rested against her breast. She gave him a little smile, then bent down to kiss his forehead. ¡°Close your eyes,¡± she whispered.


    He did so. Moments later, her fingers went cleverly to work on his shoulders, down his arms all the way to his hands, then back to his chest and from there up his neck to his scalp. Everywhere they went they explored and pushed slowly gently but firmly, probing, finding, stretching, smoothing and releasing. As she massaged him, she hummed a sweet song.


    It worked beautifully. Soon he was hardly conscious, just drifting in steamy relaxing bliss with an untroubled mind. A timeless interval passed unheeded until he finally noticed that the water had cooled to merely warm, and Di-Ha seemed to have fallen asleep herself, her arms still splayed down his chest but her own head nodded down and to one side. She was even snoring slightly.


    He opened his eyes and considered her. Considered how incredibly beautiful she was. What a woman.


    How could he even consider leaving? His father really had been foolish, to heed the words of a witch¡­


    Di-Ha stirred, opened her eyes, and caught him watching her. To his surprise, she blushed.


    ¡°Don¡¯t stare at me,¡± she whispered.


    Deng-Nah sighed, and remembered a scrap of poetry he¡¯d written some time ago. ¡°If I could see just one thing / and then nothing more / I would give you my last sight,¡± he said, aloud.


    Her blush deepened. ¡°Did you compose that here and now?¡± she asked.


    ¡°If only I was that clever.¡±


    She tidied up his hair, redundantly. ¡°You are clever.¡±


    ¡°Am I?¡± Deng-Nah sighed and closed his eyes again. ¡°I don¡¯t feel clever or stupid. I feel like I am¡­floating on a river¡¯s current. As though that is all I have done, all my life. I married very well¡ª¡± he opened his eyes to smile at her, and was pleased when she smiled back ¡°¡ªbut¡­what have I done? What have I achieved? Will my story be to inherit and pass forward my family but do nothing with it? What is a man who does nothing more than preserve his inheritance without growing it?¡±


    She sighed and stroked his forehead. ¡°Your mind has been so full of strange thoughts lately. Not just the dreams, but these questions you ask, these things you take an interest in. You are so¡­restless¡­all of a sudden.¡±


    ¡°I know.¡± He yawned. ¡°I cannot decide if it is because I am tired and irritable from lack of good sleep, or because I have woken up somehow, and come to see that I was not doing anything.¡±


    ¡°¡­Nah-nah,¡± she favored him with a rare diminutive. ¡°About¡­about what your father told you¡­about that prophecy¡­¡±


    Deng-Nah¡¯s eyes flew open and he blinked up at her. ¡°You heard?¡±


    She had the good grace to give him a small embarrassed shrug. ¡°I was coming to surprise you and I¡­Sho-Gong had been ordered away. What your father said¡ª¡±


    ¡°Was the rambling of an old man who made the mistake of heeding a witch, Di-Di. Nothing more.¡±


    ¡°Is it?¡± She caressed his brow. ¡°Or is that what you are trying to tell yourself?¡±


    Deng-Nah sat up and turned to face her, taking her hands in his. ¡°How could I leave the perfect woman?¡± he asked.


    She smiled, but also shook her head. ¡°¡­No. Don¡¯t try to comfort me that way.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s the truth. I see nothing that would cause me to leave. For all that I¡¯m restless¡­I wouldn¡¯t do that to you, or to our child.¡± He gently laid a hand on her round belly.


    ¡°Not even to save us?¡± She laid her hand upon his. ¡°I know you, Nah-nah. It is Proper for a woman to study her husband and become an expert in him. Perhaps I know you better than you know yourself. I think¡­well, let me ask you plainly. Suppose you were faced with a choice,either to protect our lives by sacrificing our standing, or the reverse¡­which would you choose?¡±


    ¡°I¡ª¡± Deng-Nah, halted, surprised by the very Proper answer that rose in him, and the way it felt exactly like vomit. He couldn¡¯t speak such a polite lie, not to her. ¡°¡­Di-Di¡­you know why I leave matters at court to you,¡± he said slowly. ¡°If it is proper for a woman to study her husband, is it not also proper for a man to study his wife? And I cannot think that any scandal or decrease in standing would hold you back for long. You can overcome anything, so long as you are alive. If that choice is before me, I would have you live and rebuild. But¡­ is there a threat? I have imagined one, but perhaps it is just the disquiet of my mind inventing ghosts and demons.¡±


    She gave him a sober look. ¡°Did I not speak of it when I returned home? A conqueror of the mind is sweeping the barbarian earthmotes, and the Empress herself fears he may be taking aim at the Divine Empire.¡±


    He didn¡¯t reply. After a second, she extracted her hands from his and rose to sit on the bath¡¯s edge. She gathered her hair into a rope and squeezed the water from it. ¡°There are powers in this world beyond what is Proper at court, Nah,¡± she told him. ¡°At court, it is proper that the foreigners are harmless barbarians, too stupid and squalid to be of interest to the empire. But it is polite fiction.¡±


    ¡°What is the truth, then?¡± Deng-Nah asked.


    ¡°The truth, though it could ruin our family for me to be heard saying it, is that the City of Emperors is not the greatest city in the world. That honor belongs to a place called Awd-an-hi-yee, a city on the Great Crescent earthmote*.* As many people live there as in Shenggung, and its people have a history just as old and armies just as great as our own. Their ships fly the skies and trade, yielding great wealth and power, and the Four and the Eight walk more often among them than among us. Even the Golden River, it is said, takes foreign men for her husbands more often than she takes a Yunei man.¡±


    Her sober look was now deadly grim. ¡°Our armies have spears and bows, and are well practiced with them. Their armies have airships and cannons and disciplined lines of men with reliable guns that can accurately strike a man dead from three hundred paces. The truth, my love, is that the Empire has been overtaken and left behind, and we shall remain behind so long as the Gate is closed. His Majesty the Emperor believes this.¡±


    Deng-Nah saw the problem immediately. The Emperor was an enlightened being, having transcended beyond such mundane matters as decrees and policies. Such worldly duties fell to the Council of First Lords, in the Emperor¡¯s name. It would be treason to suggest that such worthy paragons of Propriety would ever even contemplate regicide¡­


    But if anyone could ever do such a terrible thing, it was them. And many an emperor had died unexpectedly over the long years, from sudden illness, shortly after stepping in and issuing personal decrees. The Emperor, in short, was not just ascended above mundane policy, but forced beyond it by the very powers who had ascended him.


    ¡°But the Council of First Lords would not sanction opening the Gate and beginning a dialog,¡± he said.


    ¡°The First Lords, may their wisdom be rewarded with a thousand years of health, believe that doing so would be to allow in the very floodwaters we seek to remain dry from.¡±


    ¡°Surely the Council of First Lords are wise enough to see that inaction can itself be the action that costs everything?¡± Deng-Nah asked, carefully.


    ¡°The First Lords earned their positions in this life on the virtues they showed in past lives,¡± Di-Ha replied. They were speaking in code and innuendo now, in the paranoid manner that became habitual when one must always be on guard for spies. What was not said was as important as what was, and Deng-Nah knew her well enough for her meaning to seem plain: none of them has earned or worked for a damn thing, and they don¡¯t understand how precarious the empire¡¯s position actually is.


    ¡°¡­So you believe we are soon to be invaded.¡±


    ¡°Indeed. By a sorceror who conquers silently and without spilling a drop of blood. And his influence has spread from Awd-an-hi-yee like creeping knotweed. This circle, these ¡®wan-ists,¡¯ they are his hands and agents. And they have their eyes on our empire, my love. They have their eyes on everything.¡±


    Deng-Nah frowned. ¡°How do you know this?¡±


    ¡°You have not been as attentive a student of your wife as you claim, Nah-Nah. I know many things, much of which is deeply Improper to know. And I know that the prophecies of witches tend to come true.¡±


    ¡°None of this gives me any reason to leave, though,¡± Deng-Nah pointed out. ¡°Quite the reverse, it gives me cause to stay! I cannot imagine abandoning you and our child in good times, let alone a time of grave peril¡ª¡±


    ¡°The village that sits below a mountain peak imagines the mountain is unchanging, until icy weather loosens a boulder and it comes down upon them.¡± Di-Ha gave him a profoundly sad look. ¡°I do not want you to leave, and I know you do not want to. Which means you would only do so for a very good reason. We do not know what it is, yet. But¡­I believe we will, soon.¡±


    ¡°How can you say that?¡± Deng-Nah asked. ¡°What about our child? What about my family¡¯s name? You should not be saying anything to encourage me.¡±


    ¡°I am not,¡± she replied, evenly. ¡°I am simply stating what I know and believe to be true. I believe these dreams of yours, this restlessness that has come on you¡­I believe they are the signs of prophecy about to come true. I wish it were otherwise, but I¡­¡±


    She trailed off and looked aside. Slowly, her hand came up to rest on her pregnancy. ¡°¡­Did you ever ask yourself why I chose to marry you out of all suitors?¡± she asked. ¡°I am cousin to the Empress. This family was an¡­acceptable match, but the On clan gained more from it than I did, politically.¡±


    Nah blinked at her, then rose to sit next to her. ¡°I did wonder, ¡± he admitted.


    ¡°It¡¯s because when you were among the many suitors who courted me, you were the only one who was actually there in that room with me. All the others¡­their minds were on the future, on the political advantage of the match, or on their worries and fears about seeming properly perfect. You, though¡­you were nervous and worried about those things as well, of course, but you spoke to me as me, not as the Empress¡¯ cousin. It may seem like a small thing, but since that day, I have known you as a very¡­a very genuine soul, my love. You are the breath of clean air that releases me when I return from the stuffy staleness of court.¡±


    She sighed. ¡°But I also know that means if something comes along, whatever it may be, that calls you away¡­you will heed it. So the very thing I love best about you might also be the thing that takes you from me.¡±


    ¡°Di-Di¡ª¡±


    ¡°No, Nah. Don¡¯t promise not to go. I know you well enough to believe that you must, when the time comes. And I trust you enough to believe it will be for a good reason. So¡­¡± she sighed heavily, then looked him in the eye. ¡°I cannot give you my blessing to leave, but¡­but I will promise you that you are right. I will weather it, and our child will not be ruined by it. You don¡¯t have to worry about us.¡±


    ¡°What kind of man would I be if I didn¡¯t?¡± he replied, bringing his hand up to caress her cheek.


    She smiled, and rested her head on his shoulder. ¡°And there it is. The only reason I can think of why you would go, is to protect us from something.¡±


    Deng-Nah could say nothing to that. She had skewered him, right in his heart, and so hard that It hurt¡­but it also made him feel profoundly loved, and that in turn made him feel a keener love for her than he¡¯d known before. He held her close, and they sank back into the water to enjoy the warmth and comfort of each other, just for a little time longer.


    <hr>


    He woke¡­sometime later. They had gone to sleep curled up together under a futon in his chambers, but Di-Ha was now withdrawn a little, curled up a little in a nest of supportive cushions. She was entirely sound asleep and peaceful.


    Deng-Nah¡­was not. He had slept, yes, but this time the dream had been particularly vivid. The green-eyed woman had smiled at him and nodded approvingly. Then she had faded into the background, and there had been the golden-haired man who was somehow also a woman. Only this time, instead of the unfamiliar environs he usually occupied, this time he had been in a familiar setting, right here in the On family estate. In Deng-Nah¡¯s dream, the figure had simply walked past the night guards, used a rope and grapple to scale the wall, and the dream had ended just as he stalked past the bedrooms.


    In the distance, a tuned floorboard squeaked. Far, far too heavily.


    A wave of drowsiness and the nigh-irresistible urge to ignore it and go back to sleep washed over him, but it crashed into the warning of his dreams and left him stark awake and suspicious. He sat up, noticing that his hand had already reached for and grasped his sword without thought.


    He let go of it long enough to don his night-time robes, tied the sash, then stalked out of the room as quietly as he knew how to be.


    Unlike any intruder would, he knew which floorboards were tuned, and where the thick joists beneath them were that would keep his step from resonating and thudding. The estate¡¯s buildings were made so that no-one could move about them silently¡­but Deng-Nah had made a game of doing exactly that as a child. Now, his boyhood play meant his bare feet made hardly a sound at all.


    Nobody was about. There was a water clock in the garden, a bronze bowl with markings up the inside fed by a carefully tuned trickle of water and emptied twice a day, at dawn and nightfall. It was about a third full. The guard changes happened at quarter-night, half-night and three-quarters.


    Hmm.


    Another board sang up ahead, and again there was that sudden leaden heaviness in his limbs and the desire to say it was nothing and go back to sleep, but now Deng-Nah¡¯s suspicion was really up. He set his thumb to the sword¡¯s handguard, ready to push and whip the blade out at an instant¡¯s notice, and ghosted down the veranda toward¡­yes, toward the hall of heirlooms.


    Every major family had such a vault, a place for storing keepsakes and mementoes of its members. On special occasions and holidays, they were the focus for properly honoring the ancestors. But, they were also a trove of riches and well-protected.


    Except tonight, the guard watching it was asleep. Deng-Nah frowned at him. That was Mo-Shu, a good and dilligent man. It was unthinkable that he would take a nap while on the job. And indeed, when Deng-Nah gave the slumped figure a nudge, he got no response at all. A loyal, alert, attentive and hitherto unimpeachable guard completely failed to stir from a slumber he would never have chosen to take.


    Fine.


    The time for sneaking and subtlety was past, he decided. With a grunt and a war cry, he yanked the door aside and sprang through, his sword glittering in the dark. A gaunt figure in nondescript grey clothes, head-and-shoulders taller than Deng-Nah, straightened in alarm then fell back as Deng-Nah assaulted him. The sword rang nastily off some hard steel hidden under the thief¡¯s clothes and bounced back with its edge chipped. They issued a high grunt of exertion and backed away, uttering a word Deng-Nah didn¡¯t know but understood the intent of.


    As they did so, they passed through a shaft of light from the vents in the roof, and the reflected light of distant earthmotes shone in hair the color of gold, and cast shadows on a sharp-angled, foreign face that had haunted his dreams for weeks.


    The wave of drowsiness came again, but Deng-Nah backed away, raising his sword into a guard posture at the door. He gave the slumbering Mo-Shu a kick, but the guard simply toppled over sideways and began to snore.


    The yellow-haired man gave Deng-Nah an astonished and troubled look, and struck again with this peculiar mind-magic, harder than ever. This time was too much: Things grew soft, and melty and warm, and Deng-Nah realized he was only dreaming again, and really he was still fast asleep in his own bed¡­


    ¡­


    ¡­No!


    A flash of green eyes in the dark behind his eyelids brought him back to wakefulness just as the stranger was lowering him gently to the ground. The foreigner stared at him astounded for a second, and then Deng-Nah¡¯s fist slammed into his jaw with a satisfying crack!


    The man went down instantly. Tall he might be, but he was light and frail too, and Deng-Nah¡¯s punch had been sweet perfection.


    Almost instantly, Mo-Shu snorted, grunted, then uttered a cry of dismay and surged to his feet. his dismay turned instantly to shame and sorrow as he saw Deng-Nah, and he grovelled low to press his forehead to the ground.


    ¡°Lord Deng-Nah!¡±


    Deng-Nah gestured for him to stand. ¡°Get up, get up.¡±


    Mo-Shu rose, but kept his body bowed low. ¡°My lord! I have failed my duty to you and your family! I request¡ª¡±


    ¡°Request denied. You were dutifully on guard and this¡­thief, or wizard, or whatever he is, put a spell on you. You are pardoned of all wrong-doing, Mo-Shu. Feel no shame and stand straight.¡±


    The other man sagged, then gathered his composure and straightened up. ¡°Yes, Lord.¡±


    The sound of shouting heralded the arrival of more guards, all wearing a shame-faced look. Deng-Nah guessed he would soon be denying several more requests to perform some act of self-flaggelation, but for now the men gawped at the unconscious foreigner sprawled in the middle of the heirloom hall.


    Of course, most of them had never seen a foreigner, before.


    The man stirred with a groggy groan and spat out a mouthful of blood.


    ¡°Shackle him,¡± Deng-Nah ordered. ¡°I will interrogate him myself, in the fire garden.¡±


    As they hoisted the limp form and dragged it away, Deng-Nah stooped and picked up the heirloom the thief had been stealing. It took it a second to place it, as the only thing he¡¯d ever found noteworthy about it was its nondescriptness. The Box of Deng-Hao On, the clan¡¯s patriarch who¡¯d first elevated the On family to its present station after his journeys with the esteemed Yun-Fah Le. Which made it the oldest keepsake in the family archive and thus the most treasured¡­but as an item itself it was dull. A plain, unadorned wooden box without any visible catch or keyhole, that no-one had ever persuaded to open.


    Why this out of all the treasures arrayed around the room? Nearly all of them were richer and grander¡­


    He made to put the box back on the shelf, then on impulse took it with him instead as he returned to his quarters, dressed briskly while Di-Ha sat up and quizzed him, then strode out to the Fire Garden to confront the man from his dreams.


    <hr>


    Mouse woke to a bucket of water being splashed in his face. His jaw hurt like fuck, and that was about all he could muster the focus to think about for a few seconds, until a robed figure standing next to him placed a hand to his head and the familiar faint blue glow of healing magic drove all the stunned fuzz out of his mind. Even the taste of blood receded.


    As he came to his senses, he tried to move and found his wrists and ankles were firmly bound to a wooden stool, leaving him in an awkward posture from which not even the world¡¯s most limber acrobat could have effected a quick escape. Several Yunei men stood around him with their hands on their swords, which were still sheathed but with the definite promise of imminent and very swift death should it be necessary.


    ¡­Well shit.


    There was a beat where nothing much seemed to be happening. The armed guards were waiting for someone. In his mind, he felt the tickle of Jerl¡¯s attention and concern.


    Problem?


    Captured.


    What? How?


    Dunno. One of the Yunei broke through my power and¡­


    Shall I pull back?


    Mouse looked up as the man who¡¯d punched him in the mouth came striding out from a nearby complex of rooms, dressed rather more finely now in a robe of rich blue silk. He was turning the Word Vault over in his hand, frowning at it.


    ¡­Not yet. Might still be able to talk my way out of this.


    He felt Jerl¡¯s skepticism and worry, but also assent.


    Mouse nodded, took a deep breath, and looked up into his captor¡¯s face. Time to see if Mind could compensate for not knowing a lick of Yunese¡­


    <hr>


    Deng-Nah considered the man from his dreams for a minute before speaking. The figure seemed calm. Tense, certainly, but not obviously scared. Odd, considering he must know that the inevitable sentence for this trespass would be death. Cold eyes as blue as the clear sky watched him carefully.


    ¡°Lord, the foreigner surely does not speak anything of our enlightened tongue,¡± Sho-Gong pointed out. ¡°Your time is too precious to waste on a thief and barbarian.¡±


    <Amusement>


    Everyone stiffened then looked as one at the prisoner, who shrugged slightly.


    <Understanding>


    It was¡­not a voice, or anything so easily defined. It was just that the knowledge, somehow definitely external, arrived in Deng-Nah¡¯s head that the prisoner was amused, and did understand them.


    A conqueror of the mind. The icy chill of that thought ran down Deng-Nah¡¯s back, and he was about to command Sho-Gong to kill this stranger immediately when¡ª


    <Rejection/revulsion>;<Denial>;<Other/Foe>


    Deng-Nah hesitated, torn between paranoia and¡­what? The certainty that the prisoner was truthful? how could he possibly be certain of that? If Di-Ha¡¯s news of conqueror of the mind was true, then such a conqueror would know exactly how to manipulate him, surely?


    He met the prisoner¡¯s eye, and the thought¡ªhis own, or so it seemed¡ªstruck him that a conqueror of the mind wouldn¡¯t even bother with manipulation. What reason would they have to bother? For that matter, what reason would they have to sneak and skulk in the dark like a common thief? A conqueror of the mind, it seemed to him, could just walk in and claim what he wanted.


    To his surprise, the prisoner expressed <Surprise> at learning he knew something of the battle beyond the wall and across the sea of clouds.


    ¡°Why did you come here?¡± Deng-Nah asked, aloud.


    <Weapon/advantage>;<Seeking/Acquire>;<Deny/withhold>


    Deng-Nah frowned at the box in his hand. ¡°This?¡±


    ;<Ancient/great>;<Sealed/locked>


    ¡°This?¡± Deng-Nah repeated. He waved the box. ¡°It¡¯s a lump of wood.¡±


    The prisoner smiled at him and¡­and um¡­


    What¡­what had they been doing?


    Deng-Nah scowled and concentrated. They were in the Fire Garden. Himself and several of his guards. They were there for a reason. An important reason, that had somehow entirely slipped from his mind, and continued to slip away as he groped for it, like trying to chase down and pick up a cat.


    Until, suddenly, it leapt into his arms. He gave the prisoner a shocked look as he remembered, just as abruptly as he had forgotten. Several of his men growled and fidgeted with their swords, but the thief just gave him a level look with perhaps the faintest hint of a shrug.


    That had been a demonstration.


    The prisoner sighed, and the images and impressions started flowing faster now. It was communication without words, there was no need for them to speak the same language. All Deng-Nah had to do was pay attention, and the knowledge flowed.


    He saw Auldenheigh, its spires and trams and airship docks and thriving, wealthy people. He saw the airship guilds, each with dozens or hundreds of ships and thousands of men. He saw the freedom of the skies, the wonders of different earthmotes, from the cave-city of Long Drop to the great Face of Mehoom.


    He saw Nils Civorage, the man to whom shades bowed, who stole minds and who had set his sights on enslaving all the world. He saw what Civorage had done, to Auldenheigh and to many other places. He saw the Circles and the shambling, empty-headed husks of people who tended them.


    He saw the Crowns and Heralds, blessing this mission. He saw what manner of thing was in this tiny, dusty box that had sat forgotten on a shelf for generations and now rested in his hand.


    He saw¡­everything. He saw the faces from his dreams and now he could put names to all of them. But in doing so the mystery only deepened, because the woman with the green eyes was only a little girl¡­


    ¡°Lord?¡± Sho-Gong was touching his shoulder carefully. ¡°Lord, are you well?¡±


    Deng-Nah smacked a suddenly dry mouth and jerked his head to try and shake his thoughts back into some kind of order. ¡°Ah¡­.yes. Yes. I am¡­fine.¡±


    ¡°Lord, this barbarian is some form of witch. For your safety, let me kill him.¡±


    Deng-Nah looked his captive¡­*Mouse¡­*in the eye. Part of him felt that Sho-Gong¡¯s counsel was wise. A man with this power was truly dangerous. But again the thought rose in him that if Mouse truly came as a foe, then he would not bother with explaining himself or with communication. He would simply dominate, and the harm would already be done.


    Was that the foreigner¡¯s will at work? Was that a suggestion he had planted? It¡­did not feel so, somehow. And it occurred to Deng-Nah that he seemed to be at least a little resilient to the prisoner¡¯s powers. How else had he achieved this capture?


    Why that should be, though, remained an unanswered question. Of more immediate concern was the question of what to do, here and now.


    Thoughts turned over in his mind. The new facts he had just learned and the new visions he had seen collided with his recent dreams, and an idea formed like dew on a bloom in the early morning.


    ¡°¡­No. Let him go.¡±


    ¡°My lord, I¡ª¡± Sho-Gong began, clearly dumbfounded.


    ¡°I have spoken, Sho-Gong.¡±


    Even so, there was a moment of hesitation among the guards, before Sho-Gong finally remembered what was Proper and bowed low. ¡°Yes, I obey.¡±


    In moments, the prisoner¡¯s hands and feet were unbound. Mouse stood to his full and truly intimidating height, massaging his wrists where the bonds had been tight enough to pinch. He met Deng-Nah¡¯s eye, then looked down at the box, then back up.


    The understanding filled Deng-Nah like a cup that it would be futile and stupid to withhold it. He knew the power that¡­that Jerl wielded. Knew that if Mouse failed here, he would simply un-do the failure and try again, until they succeeded.


    He handed over the box. Sho-Gong and the guards remained at rigid attention, but could not disguise the disbelief in their eyes. They did not understand; Mouse had not shown them.


    Mouse smiled and nodded. After a second he frowned, then bowed low.


    ¡°The esteemed lord is generous beyond the limits of my humble gratitude,¡± he said, in heavily accented but perfectly proper manner. And then¡­he was gone. There was that moment of forgetfulness again, and when focus and attention returned, there was no sign that the prisoner had ever been there, aside from the seat he¡¯d been bound to, and the faint impressions of his feet in the gravel.


    Deng-Nah exhaled, and felt Sho-Gong¡¯s stare.


    ¡°Speak, Sho-Gong.¡±


    ¡°My Lord¡­that man stole from you. He broke into your house and robbed your family¡¯s treasures! He is a foreign barbarian who has trespassed on the sacred clay of the Yunei!¡±


    ¡°Yes, he did. He also showed me the end of all freedom encroaching at our very gate,¡± Deng-Nah sighed. ¡°We have just encountered a thing much larger than our own concerns, and I do not think there is any Proper way to handle it.¡±


    ¡°I¡­do not understand, Lord.¡±


    ¡°No. I suspect neither do I, not fully.¡± Deng-Nah turned to his men. ¡°You will not speak of this, unless the Emperor himself commands you. And he may, soon enough.¡±


    The men glanced nervously at each other, then bowed and scurried off at Deng-Nah¡¯s gestured command, taking the chair with them. Deng-Nah took a deep breath, and turned back to his chambers.


    He found Di-Ha sitting and awake. She gave him a pale, worried look in the dim light.


    ¡°What has happened?¡± she asked.


    ¡°You were right,¡± Deng-Nah told her, and slid the door behind him. He sat with her, and told her what he had seen.


    Their conversation lasted through the rest of the night.


    <hr>


    <blockquote>


    ¡°I ¡®eard ¡®ow ¡®er Grace the right Duchess still ¡®as ¡®er agents in th¡¯ city, still workin¡¯ behind t¡¯scenes. She means t¡¯come back, one day. I wish I could join ¡®em. This city ain¡¯t free no more. I¡¯d fight ¡®fer the ol¡¯ Duchess, if¡¯n I could. But they¡¯s got ¡®ter be careful as mice, don¡¯t they? Ain¡¯t safe ¡®ter stand up ¡®ter these Oneists, ain¡¯t safe at all¡­¡± ¡ªWords spoken by Geree Bowdler to his friends at the Pin Polisher Public House, the night before he converted to Oneism and joined the Circle.


    </blockquote>


    <h2>Treefoot Safehouse</h2>


    Cheapside, Auldenheigh, Enerlend, Garanhir Earthmote 09.06.03.11.12


    The Blackdrake Network¡¯s new base of operations was above a threadmaker¡¯s shop on Tapener¡¯s Row. Pickler¡¯s Lane was supposedly still intact and undiscovered, but that was in large part because Lord Drevin, via his distant coded instructions, was keeping the place as a fallback location. The safehouse at Broadwalk was burned and gone, having been evacuated just minutes before the Oneists and their pet Constabulary task force had swept in on the place. Sergeant Bothroyd had taken a serious risk in passing on the warning, so for the time being he was in quarantine, behaving himself and generally being a good and obedient copper. An old man just doing his job as he waited out the last few years until he could retire and enjoy his pension.


    Adrey hoped the sergeant would get to enjoy it. He¡¯d earned the right.


    For her part, it felt good to be back. That short break on the Oasis had been restful, healing, very necessary and it had been wonderful to see Ellie and to see Lisze¡¯s first steps on the road to recovery, and to meet little Saoirse¡­but it had also reinforced that she was meant to be here, fighting this fight.


    Even if the board was somewhat changed since she¡¯d seen it last.


    There was a map of Cheapside rolled out on the table. Originally it had been weighed down at the corners with whatever was to hand: a pistol, a cup (empty and dry, but still smelling faintly of beer), a bag of magestones and a small book. Now, though, it was so full of pins that the weights were long redundant.


    Most of them were an unhappy red.


    ¡°Goodness¡­¡± Adrey frowned as the scale of the Oneists¡¯ gains in the city became apparent. ¡°We really made them angry, didn¡¯t we?¡±


    ¡°Oh, it ain¡¯t that,¡± Skinner replied. ¡°They¡¯re desperate. We gave ¡®em a solid kick in the balls that night, an¡¯ th¡¯ whole city saw they¡¯re not so untouchable as they want t¡¯seem. So, they¡¯ve bit back hard.¡±


    ¡°To try and mend the illusion.¡±


    ¡°Aye.¡±


    ¡°And a frightened dog bites sooner and harder.¡±


    ¡°Pretty much.¡± Skinner leaned forward to pluck a pin out of the board and toss it into the little bowl he kept to on side. ¡°Curfew¡¯s tighter, checkpoints all ¡®ave a Circle creeper or two mannin¡¯ ¡®em. Sometimes, they even board trams an¡¯ check documents, or jus¡¯ stop folks in th¡¯ crowd. Anyone pipes up ¡®ta complain, they get a thumpin¡¯, then off to Ol¡¯ Brackish.¡±


    ¡°All by order of the so-called Duke, I¡¯m sure¡­¡±


    ¡°Mhm. After our little party, ¡®is Grace issued many a proclamation an¡¯ decree.¡± Skinner snorted. ¡°Poor bugger. Like as not ¡®e¡¯s jus¡¯ like ¡®yer friend Lizzy an¡¯ all the others, except sometimes they ¡®and ¡®im the ducal seal so¡¯s the papers are genuine an¡¯ official.¡±


    ¡°No doubt,¡± Adrey agreed, bleakly. Her Grace¡¯s Prison Brackishmarsh was, or rather had been, Auldenheigh¡¯s main destination for recidivist criminals who simply couldn¡¯t be part of society in any capacity. From all she¡¯d ever heard of the place, it was a grim warren of black-painted iron bars and whitewashed brick walls, where dignity was deemed to be a civilized privilege that the inmates had thrown away. It sounded ghastly.


    The Oneists, of course, had promptly taken the place over when they dominated the Duke. Now, it was effectively just a waiting-place to hold troublemakers prior to their Encirclement. Though, everything the resistance had found suggested several of the Oneists¡¯ more enthusiastic non-Encircled enforcers were former inmates.


    Encircling dulled the mind and wits, after all. The Oneists couldn¡¯t afford to all be brainless puppets, Civorage needed some sharp minds¡­and where better to find them than in prison after a good spell of meditating sullenly on how the previous regime had wronged them?


    They were nasty pieces of work to a man. Brutal, sadistic, often pathologically murderous. But the very volatility and ruthlessness that Civorage prized in them and that made them so dangerous to the general public also made them unprofessional and sloppy by the Blackdrake¡¯s standards.


    It really was quite an asymmetrical game they were playing, Adrey thought. The Oneists had the numbers, the Blackdrake Network had the skill and discipline. Which was more telling?


    Only time would answer that question.


    ¡°¡¯Ow good is ¡®yer new safehouse?¡± Skinner asked.


    ¡°It¡¯s a boarding house for young ladies. Gentleman callers not allowed. I can probably roost there a good long while, but it¡¯s no use for harboring agents or stockpiling materiel.¡±


    ¡°Hmm¡­¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s still a line of communication.¡±


    ¡°True. If¡¯n you don¡¯t mind bein¡¯ a pigeon.¡±


    Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    ¡°Fine by me. After that incident at the Hunting Hounds it¡¯s probably best if I stick to low-visibility duty for now.¡±


    ¡°Ah, ¡®yer wasted on th¡¯ timid stuff. But here an¡¯ now, we do need t¡¯build the web again...Alright. What¡¯s your cover at Hatpin?¡±


    ¡°Adelia Rubb. Her husband is Charlie Rubb, an airshipman away on the Felicity¡¯s Flight for the next two years. Adelia¡¯s come in to the city looking for work. I¡¯m thinking she¡¯ll find a position as a governess.¡±


    Skinner nodded as he made note of this. ¡°Solid. I like it.¡±


    ¡°So that¡¯s the plan for now? Rebuild the network?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s it ¡®fer now. Let the Oneists thrash about a bit, stay out their way, fix what they break¡­but I got a target in mind ¡®fer the next rescue. You¡¯ll want in on that.¡± He flashed a rare smile.


    ¡°Why, who¡¯s the target?¡±


    ¡°Who else?¡± Skinner¡¯s smile broadened into an honest grin. ¡°We robbed ¡®em of some nobodies before. No offense ¡®ta miss Lisze intended, beggin¡¯ ¡®yer pardon. But who¡¯s th¡¯ one person in all Auldenheigh we could break free an¡¯ it¡¯d really, really hurt ¡®em?¡±


    Adrey paused, then joined him in grinning. ¡°The Duke.¡±


    ¡°Aye. Be quite a turnabout if he got free, made a big public statement an¡¯ declared support for ¡®Er Grace Ellaenie, wouldn¡¯t it?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯d be a coup,¡± Adrey agreed. ¡°It won¡¯t be easy.¡±


    ¡°No. S¡¯why we need th¡¯ network repaired first. But that¡¯s the goal. ¡®Course, you¡¯ll take what I just said ¡®ta ¡®yer grave rather¡¯n let the Oneists learn it, right?¡±


    ¡°Skinner, I promise you this. They¡¯d never take me alive no matter what I knew.¡±


    ¡°Good.¡± He pulled his watch from his pocket, then nodded. ¡°Arright. Time¡¯s gettin¡¯ on. You¡¯d best sleep so¡¯s you can go back ¡®ta Hatpin in th¡¯ mornin¡¯ an¡¯ tell ¡®yer landlady you found work.¡±


    Adrey nodded and considered the map one last time. They had a lot of work to do if they intended to pull off this particular coup. A lot of work. But what price Auldenheigh¡¯s freedom? What price Civorage¡¯s defeat?


    No price was too high. She watched as Skinner stuck a new pin in the map to mark her safehouse¡ªappropriately, he found an actual hatpin¡ªthen turned and headed through into the back room where a divider and curtain created a little privacy around a cot in the corner. Once upon a time, it would have been the unthinkable limit of slumming it.


    Now, it was a safe, warm, dry and comfortable place to sleep. Anything beyond that was pampering.


    She smiled at the change in herself, lay down, gathered some blankets around her, and fell asleep on the thought that she was back, and ready to open the next chapter of her home¡¯s liberation.


    <hr>


    <blockquote>


    ¡°Rumor has it, one¡¯a the Keeghan clan¡¯s come up wi¡¯ something he claims¡¯ll change the world just as much as his grandpa¡¯s lift gas. Something about sending messages flying through the air on little lightning bolts? Fuck if I understood it, but they¡¯re the family who made wood and rope take to the sky, so if anyone can send a letter without pen and paper, it¡¯d be them¡­¡± ¡ªOverheard in the Ship¡¯s Wheel Inn, Crae Laugharne.


    </blockquote>


    <h2>Loading up and getting ready to sail</h2>


    The docks, Out-Town, the Gate 09.06.03.11.12


    Business as usual, that was the key. No rush, no fuss, no forced nonchalance. The trick to getting away clean now was for everything to be normal. Jerl had made appointments to meet with a couple more buyers, and he honored those appointments even though his scalp and spine were itching with the thought of the Word Vault now secure in the safe in his cabin. Part of him was seriously expecting a squad of Yunei soldiers to come marching out of the Gate to confront them at any minute.


    Time suggested no such threat, and Mouse had said he was fairly sure that Deng-Nah On wouldn¡¯t suddenly be changing his mind like that, but still every minute ashore felt perilous now.


    Fortunately, the meetings with the buyers were straightforward and productive. Both were happy to buy the last of Jerl¡¯s furs and whisky at prices that left him with a profit to show, and the ship¡¯s stocks were fully replenished.


    Jerl was just finishing up with the harbormaster when he became aware of a small man¡ªwell, all Yunei were small, but this one was especially tiny, maybe a full foot shorter than Jerl himself¡ªstanding and waiting patiently. The man was dressed for travel, with an overcoat over his warm robes, sturdy wooden clogs, a modest pack and bedroll upon his back, and a sword at his belt.


    For all that the gear seemed rugged, it also had that well-made, expensive look. And the sword¡¯s scabbard was beautifully lacquered and decorated with script. His hair was worn in a high, neat topknot bound with ribbons, and his beard was short, neat and expertly barbered.


    Jerl had never seen him before¡­but he guessed he could put a name to this face.


    He turned and called over his shoulder up the ramp to call for Mouse, but Mouse was already coming down it. He smiled at the newcomer, then bowed politely and said something in the Yunei language.


    The man gave a mildly surprised grunt, then returned the bow and replied in kind, just two short sylabbles: ¡°So mu.¡±


    Mouse smiled at Jerl. ¡°I figured he¡¯d be coming. I saw it in his mind.¡±


    The man turned to Jerl, and bowed. ¡°Joihichi, ban Jer-al How-ten.¡±


    Mouse¡¯s mind tickled Jerl, delivering the correct reply. Jerl returned the bow, a little stiffly. ¡°joy-ee-hee-che-mai, hei Deng-Nah On.¡±


    There was a mutually uncertain pause. Obviously, further communication was going to be a problem, but¡­oh, to the Shades with it. Jerl stepped aside and gestured with an open palm, inviting Deng-Nah On to climb the ramp. That at least didn¡¯t require him to know the lingo.


    The nobleman nodded gratefully, and took the invitation.


    ¡°He¡¯s coming with us, then,¡± Jerl commented to Mouse as they watched him climb up to the deck.


    ¡°There¡¯s something weird going on with him,¡± Mouse replied. ¡°I saw it in his thoughts. He¡¯s been¡­dreaming of us, somehow. For weeks, now.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ll have to teach him Garanese pretty quick,¡± Jerl pointed out.


    ¡°He¡¯ll learn,¡± Mouse predicted.


    Jerl watched the little man pause on the deck and look about, clearly out of his depth and trying not to show it. ¡°Why is he here?¡±


    Mouse shrugged. ¡°Why are any of us here?¡±


    Jerl could only concede that point with a pause, a frown, and a shrug of his own.


    ¡°We¡¯d best get moving before someone comes asking after him,¡± Mouse pointed out.


    ¡°¡­Right. Sinikka!¡±


    The elf¡¯s head popped up from below decks. ¡°Skipper!¡±


    ¡°We all aboard?¡±


    ¡°All aboard, fueled and ready!¡±


    ¡°Then tell Derghan to prime and light ¡®em, we¡¯re going!¡±


    ¡°Aye aye!¡±


    Mouse had already bounded up the ramp. Jerl followed, drew the ramp up behind him, and wandered on up to the wheelhouse while the familiar rhythm of shouting, activity and grumbling engines erupted around him. Deng-Nah On followed him, and sat on his pack in an out-of-the-way corner while Jerl got the ship in motion.


    ¡°Jerl? There, ah, is one small matter we need to resolve¡­¡± Amir had sidled up with his tools and almenac in hand. ¡°Where exactly are we going next?¡±


    ¡°Haptar Getesh,¡± Jerl decided.


    ¡°¡­Right. Ah, Gebby? Lubber¡¯s reckoning for Prathardesh Earthmote. I¡¯ll have a leading course for you shortly.¡±


    Gebby nodded and gave the wave to the ground crew. ¡°Yes, navigator,¡± he replied as the bolt came loose and the queen lifted. Deng-Nah On clutched and grabbed at the doorframe to steady himself. With a spin of the wheel and a crank of the telegraph, the Queen turned, lifted her nose a few degrees, and headed out into open sky.


    <hr>


    Deng-Nah sat in his corner for a few more minutes until things seemed to settle down. There were still¡ªand elves, too! Elves with strange black and red skin and eyes the color of fire, and one whose skin was as white as mulberrry paper and whose eyes were as iridescent as opals¡ªwho darted here and there tying off ropes and moving things around. Somebody had already lit a large iron box stove and was measuring out rice and beans and smoked meat.


    The deck seemed steady enough, so he rose to his feet and moved to the rearmost rail to look back upon his home. The rail was high, tall enough for these tall, gangly folk. From Deng-Nah¡¯s perspective he felt only a little fear of some random rock or sway pitching him overboard. He held on for reassurance, but his eyes were drawn to the Gate, to the Wall, to beyond the wall and¡­there. To the patch of green and gilding and water gleaming in the sunlight that was his estate. To the life, and wife, and child, father and wealth he¡¯d never be able to go back to now.


    He still felt sick with uncertainty, and hardly able to believe he¡¯d done this thing. This thing he¡¯d been swearing for weeks he couldn¡¯t possibly do, would never even think of doing¡­and when it came to it, when the right person had come along and given him the right knowledge, it had become obvious that he couldn¡¯t not do it, no matter what it cost.


    Still¡­he couldn¡¯t look back without sorrow and fear.


    Please¡­let this have been a worthy sacrifice.


    Mouse came up beside him, leaned on the rail, and gave him a reassuring smile. It helped, a little.


    But only a little. The ship plunged into a cloud, and cool wetness fogged the deck¡­and stole away Deng-Nah On¡¯s last view of home.


    He couldn¡¯t help himself: he stood at the rail and wept.


    <hr>


    <blockquote>


    ¡°Try as I might, I found no signs of civilization anywhere on the Unbroken Earthmote, save one place. The nomadic Ithfey clans migrate constantly to avoid Eclipse, and no human settlement could last long in the weeks and months of darkness down there¡­but there is a tower, on a remote outcrop of stone. I heard of it by rumor, and went to find it, and glimpsed it from afar, but never managed to come there. I imagine few ever shall¡­¡± ¡ªPrince Ruber of Valai, My Travels


    </blockquote>


    <h2>A tower in the bitter cold</h2>


    The Unbroken Earthmote, Talvi¡¯s Sphere. 09.06.03.11.16


    The tower had stood on this particular spot, Civorage knew, since the very first days of creation. Even then it had been a sort of reply or tribute to the Glacier Keep, far away on the very opposite side of the Unbroken Mote, but after the Forsaking it had become something more like a criticism or parody.


    It was also the birthplace of Oneism, though it had taken Nils some time to realize it.


    The edifice was hardly welcoming in appearance. Like its mistress, the tower was all shades of white and icy blue. It thrust up from a mountain peak like a jagged core of partially knapped flint, though the twisted, sharp shapes were not part of the architecture. Centuries of accumulated ice had given fangs to Iaka¡¯s Tower.


    There was nowhere good to land or tether at the tower itself, though. So, as he had done years before, Nils rapelled down off the Make Your Own Fortune until his boots crunched into the permafrost. Unlike that first trip down to this layer of the worlds, this time he didn¡¯t participate in hammering in the stakes or securing the ship. Instead, he shrugged his fur-lined coat about his shoulders and started up a narrow, winding stair cut in the cliffside.


    It ought to be perilous. Seven years ago, it had been. Seven years ago, the steps had been buried under ice and compacted snow and he¡¯d had to wear spikes on his shoes and climb with the aid of axes. Seven years had changed matters greatly, however, and now the stair was even-flat, well-maintained and dry. There was even a rope to hold. his ascent was sure-footed and safe.


    Still, Civorage wasn¡¯t a young man any longer. His knees in particular disliked the climb and complained throughout.


    There was a brazier burning at the top of the steps, and two of Iaka¡¯s Circle standing guard. They were anonymous under the thick layers of fur, wool, face mask and goggles, but it wouldn¡¯t have mattered anyway. Civorage could tell from the merest glance at their minds that these two knew only the blissful, unwanting happiness of the Encircled.


    They opened the outer doors for him, then closed them again behind. Ahead of him was another pair of doors, then a third. By the time he¡¯d passed through a third, the air was warm enough to have him prickling with sweat under his cold weather gear.


    Three more Encircled and a Nornfey came up at once to help him shed the too-hot clothes and attend to his comfort. They were gone as quickly as they came, and Civorage strode on through into the tower¡¯s heart.


    It was a dazzling place. White stone edged with black stone, lit by perpetual blue flames. Iaka was, technically, no longer a Herald¡­but she had once been a Herald, and her command of magic was unrivaled among mortals. Indeed, it was by her sorcery that she had lingered long past the ordinary mortal span of years.


    Even if it meant she would never rise from her throne ever again.


    Power thrummed through the air in warm waves as Nils stepped into her chamber. It was a wide cylindrical space, perhaps half a furlong across, and the path from the entrance to the foot of the throne dais threaded between silver rings embedded in the floor, upon which groups of Encircled and Nornfey danced and chanted a low, soft plainsong. To Civorage¡¯s senses, the walls rang not only with the echoes of their voices, but also with the echoes of their thoughtless contentment.


    This was Iaka¡¯s creed and purpose: a world without suffering or hardship in even the least degree. To the Circle here, the labor of maintaining themselves, their lady and the tower was just as much a joy as was dance and song. If the price of that was shedding all ambition, all preference, all aversion and all self, then that just proved how evil those things truly were. Personhood, Iaka taught, was the great anchor that kept the spirit from soaring free.


    And Civorage had to admit¡­there were times when he envied the Encircled. He, alone of all people in the world except for Mouse, could truly know their bliss. Sensing it now, here in this place, left him with a feeling of tiring weight as though his body and his concerns were literally hanging from his limbs like bags of lead shot.


    But all the cares, aches and exhaustion fell away when Iaka looked down from her throne and blessed him with that Infinitely warm, unconditionally caring smile.


    It was the sort of smile a mother ought to give.


    ¡°Hello, Nils.¡± The dignity of years was in her voice, along with the soft reassurance that his cares and troubles were all okay. Somehow, her black hair and eyes with the light of blue fire burning within them managed to transport him to a childhood he¡¯d never had.


    He almost sighed. Instead, he ventured his own small, childish imitation of her smile and bowed. ¡°My Lady Iaka.¡±


    She straightened in her seat. The throne she sat in was thousands of years old, worked perfectly smooth and comfortable by the erosion of long occupancy. Nils had no idea what sort of magic powered it or from what source, but he could feel it in the air, through his feet, prickling his skin. As she looked in his eyes, verbal communication became redundant. She understood.


    Redundant though it might be, she still spoke. ¡°Defeat after defeat. This curse weighs heavily on you, my love.¡±


    ¡°Is there truly no way to lift it?¡±


    ¡°A powerful Beldame and Crownspouse gave her life to place it on you, love, and you dealt the killing blow that carried out her sacrifice. It is very possibly the most powerful act of witchcraft ever performed in this world.¡±


    ¡°Even more powerful than them?¡± Nils asked, indicating a nearby Nornfey.


    Iaka favored her creation with a proud smile, but nodded. ¡°Even more. I did not sacrifice myself in their creation.¡± The nornfey in question gazed back at her with rapturous adoration. Her smile widened a little, then she looked back to Nils. ¡°I have meditated long on how to lift Thaighn Saoirse¡¯s hex from you, beloved. If we cannot succeed in the quest to find more Words and empower you beyond its scope, then the only other option is a sacrifice equal in scale to the one she made.¡±


    ¡°Giving my own life to lift the curse on me seems¡­redundant,¡± Nils ventured. Iaka¡¯s laugh chimed through the plainsong and echoed off the walls.


    ¡°That it would!¡± she agreed. ¡°Oh, darling, don¡¯t speak of such things. We cannot match Saoirse¡¯s sacrifice with a single life, excepting your own or mine. Neither of which will do at all.¡±


    She stood, and paced a slow circle around her throne, though she remained carefully inside the lines and ritual markings etched into the dais. As she moved through the magical field, it flickered and flamed on her limbs and hair like the ghostly discharges known as ¡°Dragon¡¯s Fire¡± that sometimes gathered on airships in stormy weather. Its light washed her pale skin in shades of azure and cerulean, and scarce-seen echoes of her form seemed to precede and trail her movements by a few inches. ¡°I had hoped by claiming more Words you would gather the strength to overcome her. But it seems the curse itself thwarts you in that respect. Which means, we must fall back on the other plan, and meet her sacrifice with one of her own.¡±


    ¡°What are you proposing?¡± Nils asked. ¡°Surely we have nothing to sacrifice that will match her life?¡±


    ¡°Oh indeed not. No single life will do¡­but quantity will suffice where quality is lacking.¡±


    ¡°But¡­they would suffer.¡± Nils frowned. Iaka¡¯s whole crusade was against the existence of suffering itself. How could she propose¡ª?


    ¡°That, my love, depends on the manner of their sacrifice. And besides¡­in this imperfect world the Crowns made, we may at times be forced to choose a little suffering now to prevent greater suffering from coming to pass.¡± She paused behind her throne, resting her hands lightly on its back. ¡°What price the eventual cessation of all misery, forever?¡±


    Nils looked at the Encircled again, and felt their minds. Their lives were so easy now, and they were so contented. They had nothing to worry about, no stress, no concerns, no longing or fears. They were utterly at peace, able to accept every moment of their lives, be it work or leisure, with equal joy. Iaka was right. If the end result was to bring such a gift to all the world, then how could any sacrifice be too much?


    It was his burden to bring about that vision, the vision Iaka had first sent to him on the day her subtle influence had led him to the Word. He should have seen it at the time, really. All the Unbroken Earthmote to choose from and he just happened to mine the one spot where the Word was buried? And the visions that had come to him afterwards, of the world re-made¡­


    It had taken him a couple of years to finally find and meet her, to fully understand her vision and the place she was offering him in it. But between his powers of Mind and her long-studied skill and the knowledge of a Herald that she still possessed, their conversation had been deeper than mere speech could ever fathom.


    He was her champion. Her chosen. The eldest son she favored with responsibilities that could be entrusted to none other. It was a burden, but one he alone had the courage and grit to bear, and that made him glad of it, even if it was still wearisome at times.


    Still¡­what she was proposing did trouble him somewhere in his heart. Some lingering, short-sighted animal instinct fretted at the idea.


    ¡°How¡­how many?¡± He asked.


    She told him. It was¡­a great many. A very great many. The worry in his heart grew a little more urgent.


    She sensed his thoughts, and beckoned him to step up onto the dais and join her. ¡°Don¡¯t worry about it for now, my darling. You¡¯ve worked long and hard and suffered many setbacks. You deserve a rest¡­¡±


    Nils had never been able to resist this gift. In moments, without even really being aware of having moved, he had stepped into the magic field with her, and felt it wash away all age, all pain, all doubt and conflict. He was in her embrace, her hands cradling the back of his head to draw it into her bosom as she crooned soft, warm understanding ,and Nils relaxed with a heartfelt sigh as he felt her blessing, the Circle¡¯s blessing, take hold. She took away all his worries, all his burdens, all his tension and left behind nothing at all. His last thought, for the moment at least, was gratitude and love that he could be as the Encircled were, for a little while.


    All thought and doubt fled from him, and for a time he was happy.


    <hr>


    <blockquote>


    Q: Why is the Yunei Emperor¡¯s palace like raising your hand at an auction? A: They¡¯re both for biddin¡¯ (forbidden)! ¡ªJanko¡¯s Junior Joke Journal, a commercial flop.


    </blockquote>


    <h2>The Imperial Court</h2>


    The City of Emperors, Yunei Empire, Yonguitang Earthmote 09.06.03.11.18


    Di-Ha took Luyo¡¯s hand and held it tight as she alighted from her palanquin. The baby was not far from due now, perhaps two weeks or so, and the weight in her belly pulled every step and movement. To maintain Proper grace and dignity suitable for the Emperor¡¯s court in this condition was¡­challenging.


    But she was up to the challenge. She must be, for her own sake and her child¡¯s and the On Clan¡¯s. Under most circumstances, the Council of Lords might have graciously delayed their summons until the birth was long past and she and the child had both recovered.


    But for a nobleman of Deng-Nah¡¯s station to brazenly leave the empire on a heathen airship¡­


    The scandal was too great. It was all anyone would talk about, and so Di-Ha must act now, speak now, show herself now, or else the terrible sandstorm of gossip would erode all credibility beyond any hope of repair.


    Besides. Her condition in itself was a statement to the court. She needed to be seen in her gravid condition, to wield her vulnerability like a weapon. It was the only avenue and argument which might yield fruit.


    By that design she might preserve some sympathy for Deng-Nah, too. No Proper man, no matter how misguided, would abandon his wife unless it were truly, unspeakably urgent¡­


    Stranger things had happened, and stranger happenings had been survived. Woe to those living in such times!


    So, she rode a careful edge as fine as a sword¡¯s blade. She needed to appear dignified and serene, but also give just enough of a hint that it was difficult. The aim was to appear to be gamely struggling for propriety, and succeeding. So, she gripped Luyo¡¯s hand and leaned on her just a little more, she kept her gait careful, her steps short and shuffling. Her bow to the court as she entered was as shallow and as pained as she could possibly get away with.


    The buzz of conversation among the courtiers had ceased as she entered. Now, silence rang from stone walls and pillars. Today was a fine sunny day, and so the Emperor and the Lords held court in the outdoor plaza where the breeze could stir the leaves and add a gentle texture to the quiet.


    Di-Ha¡¯s wooden clogs clacked loudly on the beautiful marble flooring as she approached the waiting-place where she would be announced. Though, with so many people already staring at her, the announcement seemed almost ridiculously redundant.


    Still. There was a Proper Way to do everything. And standing before the Emperor himself was no time to forget that.


    The chime of a bell and a loud call and chant in poetic language heralded the Royal arrival. The Emperor and Empress emerged from the palace depths, progressing at such a serene and stately pace that their robes betrayed no sign that their legs moved at all. They seemed to glide over the floor like game pieces, or like swans on a still lake. Behind them, with no less solemnity, came the five Lords who would hear her, and make their pronouncement.


    The court, of course, had all knelt and pressed their foreheads to the floor as soon as the Imperial presence was declared. Even Di-Ha, heavy as she was, could not forego that obeisance, though provision was made for these things. A servant rushed a pillow to her, and she was permitted to kneel on it and bow her head, rather than kowtow fully.


    With that done, the court were commanded to rise. Di-Ha met the Empress¡¯ eye as Her Majesty sat beside her husband. Her cousin was in no position to offer any overt signal or acknowledgement, but the eye contact said much. She still had one ally here, at least. And if she had the Empress on her side, then she had the Emperor too, most likely.


    Still. As everyone knew but all were forbidden from acknowledging aloud, the royal couple were not the power here. The mundane power belonged to the five men who settled themselves in their own seats, a step down and in front of the royals. Their power was one of efficiency and action; the Emperor and empress wielded the deeper powers of influence and symbol.


    The balance was a careful balance, requiring the most Proper of attention.


    The Lords were a daunting assortment, Di-Ha thought. Lord Fao in particular had the grim look of a man whose mind was already made up, and Lord Sho¡¯s grey, blind eyes gave away absolutely nothing. Lord Le was the one most likely to be kindly disposed to the On Clan: his family¡¯s own ascension to its present rank had been in part thanks to Deng-Nah¡¯s ancestor, Deng-Hao. Lord Hu was likely to be soft, too: he was a cousin, on Di-Ha¡¯s father¡¯s side of the family. Though on the other hand, that might inspire him to harshness, to separate his branch of the family from any suggestion of shame.


    The last figure to settle, in the middle seat directly in front of the Imperial couple, was Lord Bei, the first of the Council. His face may as well have been carved in stone, though the look in his eyes as he considered Di-Ha was not hostile. He snapped his fan open and swooped it through a ritual gesture of command to indicate that the Council was ready to hear the business before them.


    The court¡¯s officer followed the theatre of it to perfection. He advanced two high paces forward, stamping his feet so hard the sound of his clogs crack-cracked around the plaza.


    ¡°Before the court! The Esteemed Lady of Fourth Rank, Di-Ha On, born of the Sung Clan!¡±


    Again, the pillow was brought forward. Again, Di-Ha knelt and bowed her head. Again, Lord Bei swooped his fan.


    It was Di-Ha¡¯s turn to speak. ¡°His Enlightened Majesty¡¯s loyal and humble servant answers the summons,¡± she said. She pitched her voice to be quiet and modest, but still clear. A tricky balancing act that she had practiced since she was a girl. On this occasion, her training served her well: she was clearly heard by all, without seeming harsh or proud.


    Lord Bei waved his fan the third and last time, returning it to a position flat in front of his chest. The court officer bowed, then turned to Di-Ha.


    ¡°Esteemed Lady Di-Ha On! The court has heard your husband has disobeyed the Imperial command against travel beyond the Empire¡¯s borders. It is Law and Proper that he and his family be punished! The Council will now decide what measure of punishment seems suitable. You may speak in your defence.¡±


    ¡°I thank the Lords for their forebearance and attention,¡± Di-Ha replied, properly.


    Lord Bei finally spoke, now that the necessary ritual was out of the way. ¡°Such a thing has not happened in many generations, Lady Di-Ha. Your husband was cousin, by marriage, to the beloved Empress. For one such as him to defect and debase himself in this manner is unforgivable. The penalty should he ever dare return must be extreme. The punishment due to you is in question. What the Lords seek to understand is your judgement in choosing this man for your husband, and whether you are complicit in his crime.¡±


    ¡°I understand, My Lord,¡± Di-Ha replied.


    ¡°And what say you?¡± Lord Bei asked.


    ¡°I say, My Lord, that I knew of my husband¡¯s decision to depart, I discussed it with him prior to his going, and he went with my blessing and encouragement.¡±


    Astonishment crashed around the plaza as though she had dropped a boulder into a deep pool. Di-Ha could scarcely have said a more shocking thing. But that, of course, was the plan. Gasps, mutters and whispers lingered for many seconds until Lord Bei gestured with his fan again and the gong was rung for silence.


    Lord Bei glared around the plaza in the ensuing silence, then returned his attention to Di-Ha.


    ¡°You enter a plea of complete guilt and culpability, then,¡± he said.


    ¡°I do not, my lord, for this was no thoughtless and casual flouting of the law for personal gain. My husband left to defend the empire against a grave and disturbing threat. He knows he can never return. He believes in his bones that this sacrifice is a necessary one, and he made it out of loyalty and love to His Majesty the Enlightened Emperor, and duty to our sacred empire.¡±


    To her private delight, Lord Bei seemed speechless. Lord Fao, however, was not.


    ¡°And now you compound crime with crime,¡± he said darkly. ¡°The Empire has stood for thousands of years. We are unassailable! To suggest otherwise is¡ª¡±


    Di-Ha added a third crime to her tally, and interrupted him. ¡°¡ªTruthful.¡± she snapped the word with a whip-crack force and suddenness that left Lord Fao astonished and blinking. ¡°And I will say it now, at risk to myself and even to my unborn child, out of love for His Majesty.¡±


    She looked directly at the Emperor, another breach of the usual protocol. She and Deng-Nah had discussed her strategy far longer than the question of his going, and this daring maneuver was her own idea. It might backfire terribly, it might doom her. He had almost refused to go, knowing how extreme her brinkmanship would be. But that in itself was an arrow for her bow. ¡°I suggest that to ignore a threat when it erects strongholds in front of our very gate is the height of Improper willfulness. His Majesty¡¯s humble and loyal servant asks the Most Enlightened One if it is not so.¡±


    She bowed low, painfully low, in utmost deference to the ultimate authority on what was and was not Proper. When she straightened again, she saw that the Empress had raised her own fan to cover her face, and the Emperor was leaning slightly toward her, listening.


    After a moment, the Emperor nodded gravely, and looked down from his dais again. ¡°¡­A house whose master ignores a gathering threat before its doors is, indeed, an Improperly tended house,¡± he declared. There were more whispers, but they faded the second Lord Bei¡¯s hand tightened on his fan in readiness to gesture.


    Lord Fao, however, was not so easily defeated. ¡°Is it not also Proper, Most Enlightened One, that there are channels of action and inquiry that a man should take before he resorts to flouting the law and decree of his betters?¡±


    Blind Lord Sho stirred, pursing his lips thoughtfully and tilting his head back a little so that his cloudy eyes gazed up toward the sky. ¡°I believe that Lord Fao must accept that the Esteemed Deng-Nah On has acted out of loyalty before he can make such an argument,¡± he suggested. ¡°And if so, is not a misguided mis-step made with noble intention more Proper than an act of open disloyalty?¡±


    ¡°If it is so, then even the Esteemed Lady¡¯s interruption of Lord Fao is forgivable,¡± Lord Hu replied. ¡°Are we to tolerate all rudeness and Impropriety if the one who commits it claims a higher purpose?¡±


    ¡°The question cuts at the heart of the Proper Way and its purpose,¡± Lord Sho mused. ¡°Do we serve the Proper Way as an end itself? Or do we follow it as the means to approach a higher and nobler end?¡± He turned his head toward the Emperor. ¡°His Majesty¡¯s humble and loyal servant requests education from the Most Enlightened One.¡±


    The Emperor nodded gravely and bowed his head in contemplation.


    Di-Ha held her breath. She had sent a letter to the Empress the very morning Deng-Nah¡¯s departure, indeed before he had even left the family estate. In it, she had laid out a philosophical argument. It was now likely that her life hung on how well-received that letter had been, and whether her cousin had taken the implicit message.


    At length, the Emperor opened his eyes and spoke.


    ¡°The Law serves a higher purpose, one which transcends us and all we do. So too does that which is Proper. The Proper Way is not our highest goal, but our highest teacher and guide. And is it not most Proper to acknowledge, at the end of things, that rank and station are fundamentally a relationship bound in the giving of wisdom, and the sharing of love? Do We not have a duty to care for all Our peoples? And do the people not in turn provide all We may require? Are we not privileged to receive the peoples¡¯ fidelity in such a position of sublime ease? And are we not in turn thankful for all their sacrifice through the deepest, most sacred bonds of love?¡±


    Di-Ha watched Lord Fao intently throughout this discourse. Was she imagining it, or was some indignation and frustration at play behind the blank mask of his expression? How peculiar.


    Before there could be any further comment or word, however, a new voice¡­cut in. Not via speech, but via the feeling of speech, arriving in the mind without the crude medium of ears and voice.


    ¡°The Most Enlightened One speaks wisely and truly.¡±


    There was a heavy sort of sound from somewhere above, and a new breeze rushed through the plaza to stir the trees into rattling life. It was the displaced air of a huge body in flight, an endless ribbon of burnished golden scales that swooped low over the plaza that rushed past and past and past before looping back around on itself. It was led by a barbeled, horned head as huge as a draught horse, with eyes as bright and red as molten gold.


    Di-Ha fought to control herself. She had not ever expected this!


    As one, the court kneeled, hardly daring to look up. But the River of Heaven was impossible to turn one¡¯s gaze away from, her form was just too inspiring. The mere sight of her looping and coiling back and forth above the palace rooftops drew the eye upwards and relaxed expressions of carefully managed serenity into gapes of open, unmasked awe.


    Finally, her foreclaws and massive jawed head dipped downward and into the plaza, and she spoke in a voice that was felt in the head rather than heard with the ears, somehow both a tectonic rumble and a warm alto at once.


    ¡°Please, my beloved kin¡­stand, and be not afraid. I come as Herald of a great and magnificent destiny, which presently shall be laid before you.¡±


    She reached down, and touched her clawtip to the inlaid marble floor before the throne. There was a great rushing inwards, a wind that whipped up hair and robe, fan and parasol, and forced all the courtiers to brace against it as the endless length of her seemed to pour in, and in, and in, until there was a moment of brilliant golden light far too bright to look upon¡­


    And then she was standing there, with a long staff in her hand. Breathtakingly tall, perfect in her face, her clothes, her poise and presentation, both of the Yunei and yet not quite, in a way that was most Proper indeed¡­


    There was a long moment of incredulous silence. Nobody knew what to say or how to react to this most prestigious interruption. It was broken when the Emperor rose from his throne to greet her, bowing low. Here was one of the few beings in all creation toward whom it was Proper for him to show obeisance, and he did not forget it.


    ¡°You honor us, o River of Heaven,¡± he stated, and bowed again. ¡°What hospitality may such as I offer, meagre and unworthy though it must inevitably be?¡±


    The choice of words was exquisitely poetic. But Dragon¡¯s reply was poetry itself.


    ¡°The wise man will offer us / the rivers and lakes / yet still he calls them meagre.¡± She recited, politely returning his bow. Several nearby courtiers sighed appreciatively.


    The Emperor, of course, was Emperor by right. He did not fail to reply in kind. ¡°If all my poetry could / flow like the River / I too would fly without wings.¡±


    Masterful. Truly masterful. Di-Ha noted a few nearby courtiers discreetly wiping away tears. For her part, Dragon smiled warmly. ¡°Prose truly befitting such a Proper people,¡± she declared. ¡°We are well-pleased to visit, and apologize for such a sudden intrusion on your affairs. I pray you sit, and allow me to announce my Crowns.¡±


    Not even the Transcendent Emperor could maintain perfect serenity in the face of such an announcement. It was brief, but Di-Ha saw his expression flicker and his eyes widen, just for a moment, before he bowed again and returned to his seat.


    ¡°Your servant awaits your pleasure.¡±


    Dragon nodded, then turned her attention from him to the Lords, and the courtiers. She favored Di-Ha with an especially long look, and a smile.


    ¡°My Lords, esteemed nobility, ladies and gentlemen. The matter before this court today has come to the attention of the Crowns themselves, for it concerns events across all their creation, and the working of terrible misdeeds and crimes beyond the scope of this empire¡¯s law and custom. They come now, all four, to share their thought and will with you.¡±


    There was a little nervous fidgeting, brief touching-up of clothes, makeup and hair, straightening of posture, swallowing of nerves. Once it had settled down, Dragon nodded again, and tapped her staff on the ground, twice. Small bells set in its head chimed as she did so.


    ¡°I announce the Faceless Lady, Mage of Mists and Shadow, Knower of Secrets and Walker Unseen, My Lady Haust,¡± she declared.


    There was no arrival, as such. It was as though the Crown of Mists had been standing there all along, still, silent and unnoticed. Even now, she was a¡­quiet presence, somehow. If a whisper could be made solid, it wouldn¡¯t have been so thistledown-light as her, and yet she was still definitely present, and abruptly present at that, right in the middle of the plaza behind her herald. The surprise was so incredible that it took several seconds for anyone to remember their Proper manners.


    The Emperor and Empress were first. As one, they rose from their seats, knelt, and pressed their foreheads to the floor in deference.


    No-one could remain upright while the Most Enlightened One bowed so low. In seconds, the whole court was following suit, and Di-Ha was glad indeed for the pillow that had been left at her feet.


    Cool hands touched her arm before she could complete the obeisance, and she looked up into Haust¡¯s veiled face. The Crown smiled and shook her head, and then¡­was just a wispy shape made of vapors and breeze, which faded away. She had already moved across the plaza and was bidding the royal couple to stand.


    ¡°It is the desire of us Crowns to move beyond such gestures,¡± she explained as she helped them rise. ¡°It is good and Proper to show respect and love, but it is even more so to live the things these gestures signify.¡±


    The Emperor blinked at her, recognizing the thought he himself had only recently expressed in her words.


    Haust smiled at him, then turned to address the watching crowd.


    ¡°Too long it has been since I appeared in these halls. Yet long have I walked among your people, in guises usually not recognized,¡± she admitted with a disarming smirk, causing genuine smiles to break out among the many courtiers. ¡°Though no people are perfect, there is much here that captivates us. You are uniquely suited for the mission we come to offer.¡±


    Before any could ask for clarification, Dragon rapped her staff a second time.


    ¡°The Prince of Joy and Song, Master of Wine and Arts, Keeper of Laughter and Bringer of Jollity, My Lord Sayf!¡± she declared.


    Sayf¡¯s arrival was rather more modest than Lady Haust¡¯s, though his garb was far more lavish. He simply entered through the great archway at the plaza¡¯s leadward entrance, with his thumbs tucked jovially into the rich silk sashes around his midriff.


    Philosophers had long written about Prince Sayf, and the appearance of perhaps too much indulgence he usually wore, but today he appeared before the Court as he Properly should be: strong and well-fed, but fit and trim. Pampered but without the loss of a steel-hard edge within him. Ancient stories had it he was a warrior of great renown in a previous life; Di-Ha could easily believe it. He seemed completely at ease.


    Despite Haust¡¯s words, it just didn¡¯t feel right to welcome the Crowns without some gesture of deference. This time, the Emperor ventured a deep bow. Sayf laughed and embraced him, placing his hands on the Enlightened One¡¯s arms and drawing him up¡­then returned the bow with a merry twinkle in his eye.¡±


    ¡°There! That will do for us.¡±


    ¡°I¡­thank you,¡± the Emperor cleared his throat and glanced at Lady Haust. ¡°My Lady of Mists spoke of¡­a mission?¡±


    ¡°Oh yes!¡± Sayf boomed. ¡°A mission which concerns the very survival of freedom and love in this new creation of ours, which we had always hoped to share in the task of tending. Now, that beautiful future is in dire jeopardy, and there are no other people who stand united and apart from the threat.¡±


    The chimes on Dragon¡¯s staff rang a third time, and all turned in expectation of the third arrival.


    ¡°The Queen of Snows and the Hearth, Mother of Culture and Wisdom, She who Transforms: My Lady Talvi.¡±


    This arrival was accompanied by a marked drop in temperature, to the point where Di-Ha¡¯s breath steamed. It wasn¡¯t a biting coldness, though. Indeed, it was actually quite refreshing, like the moment one stepped into a cool and sheltered room after too long under the hot sun. Talvi herself was the very picture of dignified age, her white hair and lined face being testaments to a long and successful life rather than the withering of years. She accepted the court¡¯s (rather shallower) bows without comment or correction, beyond an inclining of her head, and paused at Di-Ha¡¯s side a moment.


    ¡°¡­Your child is very close, my dear.¡±


    Di-Ha had no idea how to properly respond to this. ¡°Ah¡­yes, My Lady. That is so.¡±


    Talvi smiled faintly, then reached out. ¡°May I?¡±


    Di-Ha could only nod. Talvi¡¯s touch was light and surprisingly warm as she rested a hand on the baby¡¯s bump and shut her eyes a moment. A small smile crossed her face as she¡­listened? ¡°¡­A son,¡± she declared. ¡°And my blessing: you will have an easy birth.¡±


    ¡°Th-thank you, My Lady.¡±


    Queen Talvi smiled, and proceeded on to stand beside her fellow Crowns without further comment.


    Last of all, and announced only by the rap and chime of Dragon¡¯s staff, was The Great Emperor of the Hunt, Lord of Fathers, the Protector of the Wild. The Horned King. He Whose Sublime Name Must Never Be Spoken.


    Unlike the others, he did not simply appear. He could be felt approaching up the grand staircase, and each increasingly alarming, earth-shaking step conveyed the sheer, dangerous presence of power incarnate. He entered through the grand arch, and the court¡¯s collective gasp raced off to become a storm of whispers.


    All paled before him, in all possible manners of being.


    He was a giant, his head barely scraping under the arch. He was so immensely broad and stocky and carried such a vast weight of muscle, his physique would have been repulsive, were there any flaw or imperfection of form to be found. As it was, his size wasn¡¯t as the performing man¡¯s soft-seeming bulk at a traveling show, nor the disproportionate framing of a hard laborer at the bottom of society. His was athletic grace, sheer power, and flawless shape, united and taken as far as a man could go.


    And then taken further. Far further. He was beyond in every graspable sense of the word, beautiful and terrible to gaze upon, and the effect only grew more the longer one looked, as if one¡®s perception could only slowly grasp the truth of him in small, incremental steps. Nothing about him relented in any way. Even his face was so utterly, brutally handsome it managed to terrify and captivate at the same time.


    Here was a being not to be trifled with. Happy and friendly though his countenance was, he could destroy everyone and everything with but a loose thought, remake them all with another. They all existed as free and independent minds because he wished it to be so. A wish he could change at a whim.


    Perhaps that was the point: to give everyone some visceral understanding of him, for their own sake. It worked too, judging by way everyone strained to remain in place and not back away from his presence. For even his incomprehensible weight served to convey knowledge of his unfathomable power; each step of his mighty bare feet pushed the very land around like a boat in water. Lanterns swayed, chimes tinkled, and all forgot Proper etiquette and reached their hands out to steady themselves. He strolled into the court as casually and free as the King of all that he was, and his every step sunk deep into the exquisite marble, leaving perfect impressions as if he were treading on soft wax. From each footprint sprung forth intricate, breathtaking inlays of vines, of flowers, of leaves and of birds. The effect matched beautifully with what was already there, and elevated the whole well beyond the original artisans¡¯ already illustrious efforts.


    As was his habit, he chose to appear as a peerless hunter-warrior in minimal but entirely Proper attire for a man of such utterly immense strength and godly form: he stood mighty and all but bare-skinned from head to feet that he might move unencumbered, yet modesty was provided for by a pair of fighting trunks about his loins and the long skirts of a warrior¡¯s waist-robes, draped down to above his knees in rich green fabric¡ªdress equally fit to don the layers of armor, run after prey, or contest hand-to-hand in a duel of honor. His hair was wild and untamed but glossy and clean, as befit any Proper man.


    He carried no weapon, for to do so would be an insult to court¡­and he needed none anyway. Legend spoke of him running so fast across the plain, the very air snapped with the violence of his passing. Of throwing a punch and disintegrating whole mountain ranges, or raising them up with a kick to the ground. Of leaping from the bottommost reaches of the spheres up to and across the very highest.


    At his heels trotted his Hounds, Heralds themselves who rarely deigned to present as the nigh-transcendent beings they were. One was dark of fur and red-eyed, one blue-eyed and white as snow. Dawn and Dusk, who sat at the archway and waited patiently with their tongues lolling.


    There was no question of failing to bow to *him¡­*but the court had learned its lesson from the other three. The Crowns, it seemed, favored genuine but moderate gestures of respect. Di-Ha suspected this one fact would shortly lead to a pronounced shift in etiquette across the whole empire.


    The Horned King chuckled at the array of shallow genuflection, but it was the sound of delight for all its subterranean bassiness. ¡°Well have you learned, and so quickly! Thank you. What matters is truth. An outward show is incomparably insulting without the inward disposition, is it not? And how easy it is to forgive a small mistake in etiquette, when one knows the intention!¡±


    He favored the Emperor in particular with a smile. ¡°We are most pleased that you voiced this truth before our arrival. Well have you exemplified your people, Transcendent Emperor of the Yunei. And well have you governed, my good Lords. It is gratifying and Proper to see your people so richly benefitting from wise, temperate leadership.¡±


    ¡°The Lord of Fathers speaks kindly,¡± the Emperor replied. ¡°We¡­do our best. And I must hasten to add, I have learned wisdom even now in letters from a courtier now present. I would be remiss to take the full credit for insight.¡±


    This was a compliment for Di-Ha¡¯s ears only, and one that nearly caused her to betray herself from blushing. Thank goodness for the thick white makeup, or everyone would have seen her face go red.


    The Horned King in turn raised an eyebrow and smiled, genuinely, and the well-wishing love washing off of him was almost an assault upon the mind. ¡°Really, now? My, we have chosen the moment well, eh Talvi?¡±


    ¡°You always did have a flair for good timing,¡± the Ice Mother replied, archly.


    The King only smiled bigger, and there was a certain¡­edge¡­to the playful intent now radiating off him¡ª


    It was quickly restrained. He shook his great shaggy head, ¡°All this time and you still know exactly what to say¡­anyway. Come. All of you, sit with me. We must take counsel on deep matters, such as has never before happened in this world.¡± The King sat right there on the hard stone ground, which promptly flowed and rippled away from him like water from a great stone splashed in its midst. A burst of stonework beauty flowed out from him, as the Lord of All condescended to the level of his creatures in genuine, humble friendship.


    The court, heeding his request, sat about him like students around an old master. To Di-Ha¡¯s amazed gratification, as she herself stooped to lower herself to the ground, she became aware of a warm, hard-bodied presence at her side. Prince Sayf, somehow, had come to help her from all the way across the plaza.


    ¡°No no, my dear! Here¡ª¡±


    And somehow, an ornate lounge chair appeared behind her. She couldn¡¯t help but glance at the Emperor, who gave her the slightest of amused smiles, and she took her seat.


    She had never sat in anything so perfectly, deliciously comfortable.


    ¡°There.¡± Sayf actually gave her a wink, and then returned to his previous spot. Another thought crossed his mind, and then with a dramatic snap of his fingers, caused cushions to appear for everyone else¡ªthe Emperor an Empress were given slightly better of course, but on the whole¡­


    There was a message here. It seemed the way of the Crowns was to layer lessons within lessons.


    In moments, the court looked nothing like a formal inquiry into a noble family¡¯s alleged misbehaviour. Now it resembled a dojo, with the masters sat in the middle, and the court gathered around to listen


    ¡°Right. Settled, everyone? Good. Forgive me, I too must relax a bit¡­¡±


    Di-Ha became conscious of a¡­shimmer, at the outermost edge of the plaza, extending in a bubble around them. The King sighed deeply, and¡ª


    A feeling as if being stretched into rice noodles and compressed into the hardest of lumps washed across them. It was uncomfortable, and disorientating, but thankfully it passed quickly.


    ¡°And now you see me a bit more as I am. My true embodied being is configured for an existence far above the present world, and indescribably greater in its innate nature, but I can bridge the gap when needed, as it were.¡±


    And so it was. There was a strange sense that she and all her fellow courtiers had become, in comparison, far less in their being, and he had unraveled far more¡­ yet nothing identifably different was there. And yet nothing was the same. It was perplexing, but the Crowns were keen to get on with things.


    And then she understood. All the Crowns appeared more in their being, immensely so, and it was that which drove home the truth; they were about to converse with gods who were in turn revealing some of themselves, each according to their natures, and in a manner that could be understood.


    With Lady Haust, that meant an ethereal quality so gossamer, she might have been the shadow of pure spirit. The Queen was stunningly, incomprehensibly beautiful, both youthful and aged at once without any contradiction. Lord Sayf became the hardest of warriors with the smile and countenance of the sweetest of courtiers¡ªthe very embodiment of a warrior-poet.


    And the Great King filled out somehow to embody radiant, absolute, uncompromising, maximum power. All forms of power that a man could posses were his, so much so it was almost soul-wrenching to behold the beautiful, magnificent, terrible handsomeness of his being.


    His gentle sense of humor did wonders to make his presence bearable.


    ¡°Don¡¯t be shy! Look all you wish, I am as I am to teach and our physical beings are part of that lesson. In a less formal or consequential setting, I might be tempted to more playful things¡­¡±


    He gave a mischievous grin that conveyed everything about what he meant.


    ¡°But that, I think, must be for another day. And be not afraid. Know that so long as you do not cross the bubble, no harm will befall you here, I promise with the full weight of my name.¡±


    Quiet nods of understanding undulated around the plaza. ¡°To business,¡± intoned Queen Talvi, when the moment was right. ¡°First, to address the matter of the Esteemed Lord of the Fourth Degree, Deng-Nah On. It is our belief that he has acted Properly in this case, by the principle of serving a higher good.¡±


    ¡°A good we have forseen,¡± added Lady Haust, ¡°though not pre-ordained.¡±


    ¡°Yours is not our destiny to control, but to tend, and to nurture. In any garden, unexpected delights¡ª¡±


    ¡°¡ªAnd weeds¡ª¡± Sayf interjected.


    ¡°¡ªand weeds may emerge. And so we come to tell you of a particularly¡­dangerous¡­weed. And to put before you our thoughts and our beliefs. What you do with that knowledge is yours to decide.¡±


    So they spoke. And the Yunei listened. And Di-Ha found herself growing both in the sense of vindication for what Deng-Nah had gone away to do¡­but also growing worry for him.


    They spoke at length. Magicked refreshments into being, spoke more. Evening was approaching as they finished, though none of them felt tired¡­


    ¡°I think that is enough,¡± the King grumbled at last. ¡°Too much time in my presence can have strong effects on the unprepared. As it stands now, the moment you all leave this space, you will feel profoundly exhausted. I would recommend you take much rest. And so, before that¡­do you understand what now befalls your people? What your great mission must be, for the sake of all?¡±


    There were solemn nods from everyone. All order and hierarchy had been forgotten, for the moment. Di-Ha could see it in everyone¡¯s eyes, even if the Lords somehow found the insanity to turn around and forbid action after this¡ªand surely they wouldn¡¯t, for they were nodding too¡ªthe Yunei Empire as it had been would never again be the same. They had been Called.


    And there was only one answer they could give.

 Chapter 19: The Caves of Haptar Getesh (pt. 1)

    <blockquote>


    ?"Hey! Hie! She flew too high, with fire in her eyes, She sailed with Old Oderos, but she met her own demise! For the crown slipped through, and her life did too, with a blast of gun and flame¡ª Feliza Annabel¡¯s dead and gone, but we¡¯ll never forget her name!"? ¡ªEnerlish air shanty, The Ballad of Feliza Annabel-Otiz.


    </blockquote>


    <h2>Struggling</h2>


    Airship Cavalier Queen, somewhere in the sea of clouds en route to Prathardesh 09.06.03.12.01


    There were sounds in the languages spoken by the ship¡¯s crew and officers that Deng-Nah was struggling with. Some were alike to sounds in his own tongue, and yet subtly different, a matter of half a rice-grain¡¯s width in the mouth between placing the tongue here versus there, or the tiniest snarl of the lip.


    Without Mouse¡¯s help, learning it may have been beyond him. Having somebody he could communicate with without speech was the only lifeline Nah had, for the moment. And though Mouse could share his understanding of these sounds, these subtleties and differences, there was much long hard work between understanding and practice.


    Still, Deng-Nah could not have asked for a better tutor. After a mere eight days aboard the ship, he was picking up Garanese with reasonable haste. Whatever power it was that granted Mouse this power of mind, it served beautifully for education.


    The ship itself was a marvel, and oddly named. Cavalier, from what he had gleaned off Mouse, meant something like ¡®showing a lack of concern for what is Proper.¡¯ It seemed astonishing to name a ship after such a definitional vice, but even more astonishing that these folk might actually consider cavalier-ness to be something of a virtue.


    They certainly didn¡¯t run her in a cavalier way. Every five hours, the new watch went over the same series of important concerns as the previous one: they checked the many ropes (¡±Rigging¡±) for fray, bad knots and other concerns. They swarmed all over the huge bag, sniffing for even the smallest leak. There were skeins of thin cloth hung about the bag and rigging that grew soaked as the ship flew through clouds or rain, and the water was dilligently collected in barrels to be used not only for cooking and drinking, but also for washing clothes and scrubbing the deck.


    Every watch repeated these rituals in an orderly manner, marking the time with bells, noting the completion of each task, speaking precisely and clearly and with their own kind of Proper Way. And then, when the work was done, they relaxed and grew informal while they sat around to tend to the less urgent chores like rope-weaving, cloth-mending and other such small acts of maintenance.


    While Deng-Nah may not yet be good enough with Garanese to understand much of the conversation, he could tell a lot by the tone of voice and especially the tone of laughter. The humans of this crew, it seemed, had a ribald sense of humor.


    The elves, though¡­


    He could scarcely read the elves. Most were sun elves, pyrfey in their own tongue. Their skins were mostly red, or shades of orange, umber, copper and hickory, they wore patterns of bright dots across their cheekbones and noses, and they called themselves R¨¹wyrdan. According to Mouse, the word meant something like ¡®Endless Penance¡¯ or ¡®Path of Eternal Regret.¡¯ And then there was the other one, the quartermaster, a she-elf with skin as white as apple blossom, hair twisted into ropes like birch bark and eyes that flashed in many hues. She was Nerissith - ¡®Frozen Tears¡¯ or ¡®Cold Lament¡¯.


    It had never occurred to Deng-Nah that any elves might actually be ashamed of their history. His schooling, very Properly, had never included any hint that the elves were anything other than irredeemable sadists, slavers and monsters.


    His experience of them so far was very different from what his upbringing had said. They would laugh and banter with the humans, but they were also more serious, more¡­careful, somehow. In many regards he found them more Yunei-like than these Garanese and others.


    He was in the company, it seemed, of ruffians and low-caste men. Even the captain and owner of this ship was the son of the second son of a tavern owner: a nobody. But to the Garanese, it seemed, being nobody was no obstacle. Airships were not constrained to the Proper and Noble, as they would surely have been in the Empire were they not outright banned.


    The¡­cavalierness of that attitude stung Deng-Nah¡¯s morals somewhat. Rough and low men these crew might be, and Mouse in particular was a thief and burglar, but they all still retained some honor. They had not resorted to piracy, at least¡­though Mouse knew of those who had. The same freedom that had allowed Captain Jerl¡¯s father to buy and own this ship allowed others to do the same, and do far worse with it. There was no protection in their culture against such abuses of freedom.


    Indeed, one of the songs the men sang one night as they shared their meal was, according to Mouse, the mostly true, if exaggerated, story of one Captain Feliza Annabel-Ortiz del Puerto de Acero, a whore turned pirate who¡¯d been the terror of Guild shipping until she¡¯d been granted something called a ¡®letter of marque¡¯ on behalf of..well, Deng-Nah wasn¡¯t sure of the details. One Garanese noble had risen up in armed conflict against another, and the pirate-whore captain had thrown her lot in with what ultimately turned out to be the losing side. The song was curious indeed, blending a sort of derision at her misguided choice of patron, admiration for her flare and style, some rather lewd suggestions about how she earned her shot at a pardon, and recounted, with a tinge of regret, how she had ultimately been captured and executed.


    ¡°As is Proper for pirates, of course. But you make it sound like she was admired,¡± Deng-Nah commented to Mouse.


    ¡°Oh, she was, kinda. Legend has it, when she was lined up in front of the wall and the firing squad took aim, she ripped her top down and told them ¡¯aim carefully, boys!¡¯¡± Mouse chuckled, and then laughed openly at the scandalized look Deng-Nah gave him. ¡°Hey, I¡¯m not saying she was a good person, but you have to admire someone with that much style, don¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°¡­I¡­suppose such poise in the face of death is admirable,¡± Deng-Nah allowed. ¡°Or was it simply a theatre of daring to cover for her terror?¡±


    ¡°Bravado. Who knows?¡± Mouse shrugged. ¡°What sort of songs do you sing?¡±


    ¡°Me?¡± Deng-Nah asked. ¡°I do not sing.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t, or can''t?¡±


    ¡°Noble men do not sing. It is Improper.¡±


    ¡°¡­Why?¡±


    ¡°I¡­do not know. It is just Proper among nobles that women sing, and men do not. I never questioned why that should be, before. Most likely it is some ancient decree by the Emperor or one of his Lords, the purpose of which is long forgotten...¡±


    Mouse scratched the back of his head. ¡°You know, no disrespect, but your empire sounds kind of¡­joyless.¡±


    ¡°And we would say that the joys you take so much pleasure in are atavistic and primitive. We are made for higher things than our base desires, are we not?¡±


    Mouse shrugged and half-turned to look out over the sea of clouds below, gleaming white in the reflected light of distant earthmotes and the great white band of the Great Ring. After a moment, he took a swig of the water mixed with some potent spirit that these Garanese preferred to drink. ¡°I don¡¯t claim to know what we¡¯re made for.¡±


    ¡°Well, I know what men more enlightened than I have said,¡± Deng-Nah told him. ¡°The First Transcendent Emperor wrote a poem on the subject. In it, he states that humans are¡­like flowering trees. Our roots are embedded deep in an animal nature, and perhaps to escape from it entirely would be the end of us, just as uprooting a tree would fell it. But we cannot flower or if we devote ourselves only to the muck in which our roots are buried. We must stretch as tall as we can, reach for and embrace all that is high and light and divine. That is how we truly flourish.¡±


    ¡°How many Transcendent Emperors have there been?¡± Mouse asked. ¡°We pieced together the clues that led us to you and your Word Vault from a book at the Thundering Hall, but one detail in it confused me. See¡­Amir, the navigator, he said that your language and system of writing was devised long ago by the First Transcendent Emperor, but later he said the current Emperor is the third Transcendent Emperor? Even though it¡¯s been hundreds and hundreds of years? How does that work?¡±


    Deng-Nah chuckled. ¡°The Emperors are Transcendent because they have mastered the cycle of incarnation,¡± he said. ¡°Like more masterful and conscious elves, they may return from death to their elevated position, time and again. But in time, a worthy successor comes along and so to make room for them the Transcendent One moves on to the higher mystery, and the next Emperor takes their place. The last time this happened was very recent: the current Emperor is, as you say, the Third Transcendent Emperor, but he is presently in his second incarnation.¡±


    ¡°But, wait. Isn¡¯t it hereditary? How can the Emperor and the heir both be reincarnations of the same spirit even while they¡¯re both alive?¡±


    Deng-Nah shrugged. ¡°Why should it not be so? The spirit is not bound by time as mortal bodies are. And considering Captain Jerl¡¯s special power over Time, who knows what other mysteries may await a more completely awakened soul?¡±


    He smiled at Mouse¡¯s unguarded skepticism. ¡°That is what it is Proper to believe, anyway. And I do believe it.¡±


    ¡°You do?¡±


    ¡°Why not? Do you believe that the elves are reincarnated?¡±


    ¡°Well, obviously¡ª¡±


    ¡°And you yourself have great power over Mind, and Captain Jerl has power over Time, and the box that gathered dust in my family trophy room for long years contains some other great power of a similar kind. You have met the Crowns and their Heralds, and one of our noble lady allies, you tell me, married the Lord of Plenty and bore him a daughter who is very like to the green-eyed woman who haunts my dreams. And indeed, I saw your face in my dreams weeks before you first broke into my house.¡± Deng-Nah smiled at the uncomfortable look that flickered across Mouse¡¯s face. ¡°We live in a world of mysteries and wonders. Why should the reincarnation of the Transcendent Emperors not be one of them?¡±


    ¡°I¡­well, when you put it that way, I guess I can¡¯t think why not,¡± Mouse admitted.


    Deng-Nah smiled at him. ¡°You are an honest man, my friend.¡±


    ¡°Oh, no. I can definitely say that I¡¯m not.¡± Mouse chuckled.


    ¡°Well, I find you so. This exile of mine, this leaving home¡­it was greatly difficult. You have made it easier.¡± Deng-Nah rose and bowed low. ¡°Thank you.¡±


    Mouse returned the bow, and they sat again to watch and listen as the ship scudded on through the sky and the night. The crew were singing something else now, though of similar tone.


    ¡°What is this song about?¡±


    Mouse, who had been staring out at the clouds, turned to listen to it, then laughed. ¡°Ah¡­it is¡­about a woman and her exceptional donkey.¡±


    Deng-Nah turned a skeptical deadpan his way. ¡°¡­Her donkey.¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡± Mouse was struggling to keep a straight face. ¡°Men came from miles around to admire it.¡±


    Deng-Nah sighed. ¡°I sense innuendo. Again. Are all Garanese songs like this?¡±


    ¡°Only the good ones.¡±


    Deng-Nah tried to scoff, but truth be told it came out far closer to a laugh than he¡¯d have preferred. He worked his mouth to suppress a smile, and cleared his throat. ¡°Ah. Well. Tell me about our destination, this Pra-thar-desh.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know much myself, I¡¯ve never been,¡± Mouse admitted. ¡°Amir says the caves we¡¯re going to are where human slaves managed to escape from the Ordfey and lived secretly in the rainforest mountains under Rheannach¡¯s protecton.¡±


    ¡°Ray-an-ack.¡± Deng-Nah muttered, tasting the unfamiliar symbols.


    ¡°What do you call her in the Empire?¡±


    ¡°¡¯Zhi-hai Yoyin.¡¯ The Beloved Lady¡­.What is she like? You have met her, have you not?¡±


    ¡°Seen. She¡¯s¡­not like I imagined she would be.¡±


    Deng-Nah tilted his head curiously. ¡°How did you imagine she would be?¡±


    ¡°More¡­ethereal, somehow. And perfect. Kind of¡­delicate and doll-like, too. But she isn¡¯t. She¡¯s tough. And her face is beautiful, but it¡¯s not perfect, you know?¡±


    ¡°She is beautiful despite her imperfections, or beautiful because of them?¡± Deng-Nah asked.


    ¡°Because of them. Definitely because of them.¡±


    Deng-Nah smiled. ¡°That sounds¡­.¡±


    ¡°Proper?¡±


    ¡°¡­Well, yes. But I was going to say ¡¯wise.¡¯¡±


    ¡°Yeah. She¡¯s not some immature fantasy of loveliness, she¡¯s¡­she¡¯s love with all its ups and downs, if you follow me. Not just the good bits, but the rough bits, the fights, the squabbles, the unglamorous mess, and the power of love to make all of that not matter if you just keep working at it.¡±


    ¡°¡­I sense you have thought about this at length.¡±


    Mouse sighed. ¡°I think about the Heralds and the Crowns a lot more than I used to, now that I¡¯ve met some of them. It¡¯s funny, I stopped seeing them as these distant ideal holy figures who maybe weren¡¯t even really real, and now I see them as¡­.I don¡¯t know. They¡¯re like a friend who¡¯s been around a lot longer, done a lot more, and is happy to share what they know. They¡¯re otherworldly, yes, but they¡¯re also very, very worldly.¡± He paused, then shook his head. ¡°I don¡¯t know. I don¡¯t think I can do justice to them with words, and I think it¡¯s something you ought to experience for yourself, rather than have me shove it into your head with Mind.¡±


    ¡°Hmm.¡± Deng-Nah considered that, and nodded. ¡°Well, given the path we seem to be on, I daresay I shall meet them and see for myself before too long. But you were telling me about our destination before I distracted you. Rainforest, you say?¡±


    ¡°Yes. It¡¯s hot, up there on Sayf¡¯s sphere. Back on Alakbir, we used to live underground to avoid the sun, and when they do travel on the surface they wrap themselves in several layers of light cloth. The Il?yedun hardly wear anything at all and the people are almost black of skin. But on Prathardesh, neither option really works because the problem there is the humidity. For whatever reason, it rains there more than the other two big Sayfian earthmotes combined.¡±


    ¡°One of those mysteries of the worlds.¡±


    ¡°Yeah. I heard they catch the water in big cisterns and like to bathe and swim and sleep during the worst of the day, then get all their work done in the cool of morning, or immediately after nightfall. Anyway, lots of rain and lots of sun means, I guess, that the forest is something amazing. I heard there are trees on Prathardesh so huge that whole communities live in the branches, because jungle cats the size of bears stalk the forest floor.¡±


    ¡°Can the cats not climb?¡±


    ¡°I guess it¡¯s easier to fend off a big cat that¡¯s climbing a tree than one that¡¯s sneaking up on you in the bush,¡± Mouse shrugged. ¡°I¡¯ve heard a lot of things about Prathardesh, but I don¡¯t rightly know how much of it is true. But from what I gather, Haptar Getesh is pretty close to the ruins of Vathcanarthen, the old capitol of the Ordfey. Perhaps we¡¯ll see that old city too. I think I want to. I know the elves do.¡±


    Nah shot the elves a suspicious look. ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re penitents.¡± Mouse shrugged. ¡°A lot of what they do is about confronting the past. And some of them¡­well, I won¡¯t share details, but some of our elves were really awful people in the Ordfey.¡±


    ¡°Only some,¡± Deng-Nah kept his tone dry.


    Mouse frowned at him. ¡°You really don¡¯t trust them, do you?¡±


    ¡°Not yet.¡±


    ¡°¡­Well, you¡¯ll see. Our elves are good folks.¡±


    ¡°Good folks who, once upon a time, murdered their slaves for fun. That stain is not easily removed, my friend.¡±


    ¡°But it can be removed. And they¡¯re committed to removing it, time and again. Trust me, I¡¯d know if they weren¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°Hmm. If I cannot trust them, then I should trust you who trusts them?¡± Deng-Nah considered it, then shrugged. ¡°Very well¡­ah. now this song sounds different.¡±


    Not just different, but starkly so. This one was slower, sadder and sweeter. A song about loved ones waiting at home, and the peril of never seeing them again. Deng-Nah felt it in his heart, even if he got only the impression of the words from Mouse this, rather than a translation or summary.


    ¡°They just made a liar of you, my friend,¡± he murmured once it was over, feeling a twinge and ache in his heart. By the Crowns, Di-Ha must surely be giving birth soon. It may be he was already a father¡­ ¡°That one was very, very good. And not so crude. It seems your people have an appreciation for Proper art after all.¡±


    ¡°Of course we do,¡± Mouse said, softly. ¡°We¡¯re not barbarians.¡±


    ¡°¡­I¡­apologize.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s alright. You spent your life being taught the world beyond your borders was nothing but barbarians and elvish marauders. That sort of thing must be hard to let go of.¡±


    ¡°Even so. I must strive to let go of it.¡±


    Mouse nodded and they sat back in the comfortable silence of two who were already becoming good friends, and listened as the crew sang away the voyage. But Deng-Nah¡¯s thoughts turned always to home, and to his wife, and his child.


    And his hope and fear that he¡¯d done the right thing.


    <hr>


    <blockquote>


    ¡°It¡¯s ridiculous! All these new rules and laws and proclamations, and the buggers can¡¯t even make the trams run on time!¡± ¡ªOverheard in the bar of the Quarterview Hotel, Auldenheigh


    </blockquote>


    <h2>Returning to Hatpin</h2>


    Well Street, Porterlands, Auldenheigh 09.06.03.12.01


    ¡°And what time do you call this, Mrs. Rubb?¡±


    Adrey paused in hanging up her hat and coat, and gave her landlord the signature wide-eyed, meek look that was the cornerstone of her Adelia Rubb persona. ¡°I, ah¡­I th-think it¡¯s about the second hour past dawn, M-Miss. Brooknetter?¡± she squeaked.


    ¡°Quite so, girl!¡± Esme Brooknetter gave her a glare redolent with overbearing matriarchal suspicion. ¡°You were gone all night!¡±


    Adrey glanced around the boarding-house¡¯s small parlor for support, but found none. Miss. Brooknetter¡¯s tenants at her female-only boarding house were a universally somewhat terrorized lot, most of them desperately searching for another address. Unfortunately, Miss Brooknetter did in fact charge very reasonable rates and provided very well-appointed rooms and excellent board for the price. It would have been a genuinely excellent place to live, if not for the woman¡¯s infinite hatred of all things male and, rather more galling, her unshakeable conviction that the women who lived in her house were all a series of silly fillies who were perpetually a single tiny mis-step away from being raped (or worse¡ªseduced) if not reminded of the danger on a half-hourly basis.


    They¡¯d all endured this humiliation. There was sympathy, but not the courage to actually jump to Adelia¡¯s defence. Miss Sadie Peason smiled wanly at Adrey over the rim of her teacup; Larnie Midge and Mellie Corroy were studiously not looking her way; and Mrs. Jemma Gower, a widow still wearing her first year of mourning blacks, simply sighed and pretended to read.


    They were all much the same as Adelia, really. Governesses or other such respectable careers for upper middle-class and lower upper-class women in their middle to late twenties, who had either never married or whose husbands weren¡¯t around. Or, in Larnie and Mellie¡¯s case, would likely never exist unless they came to some convoluted arrangement of mutual convenience with a male couple who likewise wished to obfuscate their relationship.


    Either Esme Brooknetter was entirely ignorant of lesbianism, or entirely approved of it. Adrey wasn¡¯t sure which.


    ¡°Ah¡­well¡­it¡¯s v-very k-kind of you to w-worry, Miss Brooknetter¡ª¡± she ventured aloud, laying on Adelia¡¯s stammer a little thicker.


    ¡°Where were you, girl?¡± Brooknetter demanded. Inwardly, Adrey bit her tongue. She was of an increasingly good mind to give the leathery, misandrist old harridan a good does of Countessal hauteur, but that would have required her to break character. Instead, she did what Adelia would do, and shrank to become even meeker.


    ¡°Oh, I, um, my employers¡­y-you see, there was an Ec-eclipse last night, so I s-stayed¡ª¡±


    ¡°Young lady, I thought I made it quite plain what I think about the idea of you staying away from home in the house of a man you¡¯re not married to!¡± Brooknetter told her, sternly.


    Adelia wrung her pinny anxiously. ¡°The¡­Gladreaves are q-quite happily married, Miss Brooknetter¡­¡± she whispered.


    ¡°Speak up, girl, I can hardly hear you!¡±


    Okay, that did it. There came a point where even the meekest persona had to stand up for herself, and Adrey felt it had been reached. She flushed pink and straightened her back.


    ¡°I s-said¡­I said my employers are h-happily married, Miss Brooknetter, and I don¡¯t like your¡­your insinuations against my c-character!¡±


    There was the sound of a teacup being put down and a sharp intake of breath from Sadie. Larnie and Mellie went stiff and still, but their eyes swiveled her way, and Jemma very carefully let go of a page she¡¯d almost torn, suddenly as watchful as a spooked cat.


    ¡°I beg your¡ª!¡± Brooknetter began, but Adrey was hitting her stride now. She still wasn¡¯t about to break character, but there was definitely an Adelia way to handle this.


    ¡°D-do you think I¡¯m some sort of, of ffff¡­of floozy, Miss Brooknetter?¡± she asked, striking the delicate balance of a timid creature driven to indignation. ¡°Because you seem to think I c-couldn¡¯t control myself around a man for even a second, and I find that quite insulting!¡±


    It was Brooknetter¡¯s turn to flush in the face. ¡°I simply mean¡­well, I know what men are like.¡±


    ¡°So it¡¯s not my character you doubt, but my juh¡ªmy judgement of it,¡± Adrey said, icily. ¡°Which is it, Miss Brooknetter, do you, do you think I¡¯m ssssuh¡­some rampant mare, or do you just think I¡¯m f-foolish?¡±


    She met the landlady¡¯s eye with a glare that was pure Adrey Mossjoy. It worked. Brooknetter swallowed, and whatever lecture or indignity she¡¯d been about to pronounce died unspoken.


    ¡°I¡­meant no offense, Mrs. Rubb,¡± she said. ¡°I¡¯m simply troubling for the well-being of my guests, is all.¡±


    ¡°And it¡¯s vuh-very kind of you,¡± Adrey repeated. ¡°Thu-though I ssshould take it as an even greater kindness if you would afford me some s-simple respect.¡±


    The silence stretched to twanging point, then ¡®Adelia¡¯ deflated. ¡°I-I don¡¯t like¡­shouting,¡± she said. ¡°But really Miss Brooknetter, it has been most upsetting.¡±


    To her astonished delight, all the other women in the room nodded, with varying degrees of obviousness. Miss Brooknetter took note of it as well. She gave Adrey a strange look, then cleared her throat and tried to regain some face. ¡°Ahem. Yes¡­well. Ah. Just¡­please, Mrs. Rubb, if you cannot make it home of an evening, can you not at least send a note?¡±


    ¡°With the curfew, Miss Brooknetter?¡±


    ¡°¡­Ah. Yes. I suppose these are, ah¡­difficult times.¡± Miss Brooknetter cleared her throat again, then quite abruptly swept up the last of the breakfast crockery and vanished from the parlor. There was a long silence, then Sadie leaned forward and hissed in a delighted whisper with her eyes wide and sparkling.


    ¡°Addie, that was amazing!¡±


    ¡°Oh-oh, it was¡­I¡¯m sorry.¡± ¡®Adelia¡¯ shrank down into her timid mode again.


    ¡°Oh, don¡¯t apologize!¡± Jemma said. ¡°I¡¯ve dreamt of telling her the same for months!¡±


    ¡°Please, I¡­I d-don¡¯t want to make anything more of it¡­¡± Adrey was in fact now worrying whether she¡¯d gone too far, antagonized her landlord and would now have to close down and move her safehouse. That, and she was honestly surprised herself at the outburst. ¡®Adelia¡¯ it seemed had rather a lot more grit and spunk in her than she let on.


    Personas were funny things, in that regard. Live in them for a while, and they inevitably started to take on a real life of their own. Addie Rubb, tall and well-built but oddly shy and awkward, with an unexpected core of steel.


    The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    Or maybe it was just there was still a lot of Adrey herself in there, no matter what she did. Either way¡­best not do something like that too often. But a safehouse couldn¡¯t properly be a safehouse if a nosy landlady was watching her like a hawk. She needed more freedom to come and go. Perhaps she¡¯d just earned that.


    ¡°Just forget it, please¡­¡± she murmured.


    ¡°Hardly. I think I shall re-live that moment in my head for years to come,¡± Jemma commented. When ¡®Adelia¡¯ blushed again, she relented. ¡°Oh¡­very well.¡± She flashed Adrey a smile, took up her book again, and resumed reading with a smile playing about her mouth. Adrey glanced at Mellie and Larnie, and noted that Mellie in particular was twisting some hair around her finger and biting her lip.


    Ah. Well. She cleared her throat, stood up and excused herself in a squeak barely louder than a whisper. As she passed the scullery, she saw that Esme Brooknetter was having a good stiff drink to calm her nerves. The older woman looked up at her, cleared her throat and looked away.


    Well¡­either the safehouse was burned, or it was about to become a rather more tolerable place to live and work. Time would tell. Adrey inwardly chuckled at herself, and headed upstairs.


    ¡°You just can¡¯t resist finding trouble, can you Addie?¡± She asked herself as she went.


    <hr>


    The genteel troubles of a few middle-class ladies at their boarding house were, of course far less trouble than she courted that afternoon, when she checked in at Besom Safehouse. The station¡¯s custodian wasa youngish man, dark of skin and nervous-eyed, who visibly had to restrain himself from giving a paranoid look up and down the street as he let her in. He was rather new at this, Adrey guessed.


    ¡°Mister Skinner ¡®as an assignment ¡®fer ¡®ya, miss,¡± he said he led Adrey through the cover business¡ªa broomsquire¡¯s workshop¡ªand into the back rooms where Skinner was waiting with his usual collection of maps, books and notes, plus the necessary wood stove for rapidly disposing of physical evidence.


    He gave Adrey a tight little smile as she entered. ¡°Might be a serious matter, this,¡± he said without preamble.


    ¡°Share.¡± Adrey joined him at the table and looked down. The map this time was of Docklands, somewhat out of date but the outline of the new Oneist airship yards had been sketched in with red ink. Skinner, however, pointed to a spot slightly upriver of them.


    ¡°Seems th¡¯ whole Clear Skies fleet an¡¯ the Oneists own ships are all comin¡¯ to Auldenheigh. The Oneist docks¡¯re so crowded, they¡¯s started rentin¡¯ berths an¡¯ mooring masts all up an¡¯ down th¡¯ river. Them berths bein¡¯ occupied is costing some rich an¡¯ important people some shrapnel, so¡­¡± Skinner turned a paper around and pushed it toward her. ¡°This here fine gentleman¡¯s throwin¡¯ a bit of a how-d¡¯you-do. To smooth ruffled feathers.¡±


    Adrey frowned at the woodcut portrait, and the invitation it was attached to, to the effect that Dafid Lendwick invited Lady Samandra Bannant to his salon at blah blah address blah blah date and time, RSVP, ETC. ¡°I know him.¡±


    ¡°¡­How close? He know you?¡±


    ¡°No, no. He¡¯s one of Ellie¡¯s cousins on the Lendwick side of the family. We never met in person, fortunately. But I know Ellie never thought much of him. Too¡­well. Lots of ambition, and little heart to temper it.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s a bleedin¡¯ nobleman got to be ambitious about?¡± the young custodian asked. ¡°¡¯E¡¯s already rich, in¡¯t¡®e?¡±


    Skinner chuckled at the eyebrow Adrey raised. ¡°Crowns¡¯ truth, I wonder t¡¯same sometimes,¡± he admitted.


    ¡°Ah, the great divide at work. The upper class don¡¯t really understand the working class, and the working class don¡¯t really understand the upper class.¡± Adrey sighed, and gave the custodian a shrug. ¡°The Lendwick family married into House Banmor via Ellaenie¡¯s mother, but Dafid here is two or three branches over on the wrong side of the family tree. The Ardensborough Lendwicks. They always did like to lean heavily on the name¡­Anyway, there¡¯s probably just as many people ahead of him in line of succession to be Duke as there are in front of you.¡±


    She smiled at the lad¡¯s widening eyes. ¡°In other words, he¡¯s not really anyone important by birth, but being somebody important is everything in the nobility. Oh, sure, there are plenty of landed gentry who just sit around enjoying dances and big dinners on their estate rent, but they¡¯re short-sighted idiots. It¡¯s not a long-term prospect for the family. If you keep splitting an estate equally among all the sons, then pretty soon each one is lord of a manor the size of a letter paper, and they won¡¯t be able to find a lady wife. And if you only give the estate to the eldest son, then, obviously, the younger sons get nothing and they resent it. So unless they want their children to fall out, or worse drop of the nobility and back down into the working class¡ªand, no offense, what good parent would want that?¡ªnobles are constantly jockying for position, prestige, wealth and to increase their estate. Especially if they¡¯re not the eldest heir. As I recall, Dafid is the¡­third brother, yes?¡±


    Skinner nodded.


    ¡°I suppose he¡¯s not Encircled? Free collaborator?¡± Adrey guessed. When Skinner nodded, she mirrored it. ¡°Then throwing his lot in with Clear Skies and the Oneists must be his gambit for prestige. And you want me to attend this ¡®how-do-you-do¡¯ of his.¡±


    ¡°Aye, you have it,¡± Skinner chuckled. ¡°Shake hands, dance, drink, get the measure o¡¯ ¡®yer fellow guests, see jus¡¯ how much support we¡¯ve really got among the nobs. See especially if there¡¯s anyone we might recruit. We¡¯ve got any number of common folks like me an¡¯ Mutt here, but Blackdrake reckons we need more of the upper crust on our side.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll need a carriage and driver. And a plus-one, ideally¡±


    ¡°Carriage we can arrange, Mutt can drive it. As ¡®fer your plus-one¡­I got nobody. Sorry.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s a shame, but I can craft the Samandra Bannant persona to match.¡± Widowed maybe? Usually a safe bet among the working class, though nobles being the frightful gossips they were, untimely young deaths did tend to become widely known¡­so, no. Keep it simple, she would just be an old maid who¡¯d yet to attract a husband or fiancee. Make her¡­bland and uninteresting? No, not if she wanted to engage people for information. She could borrow a little from Adelia Rubb to make her sort of retiring and quiet, but¡­no. Make her abrasive, haughty, a little overconfident. The sort of woman the average man would balk at marrying for fear of being plowed under by his wife.


    Hmm. She¡¯d want the brown wig, the slightly unfashionable one. And a little extra padding under her stays to make her seem a touch dumpy¡­


    Skinner chuckled. ¡°I can see the wheels¡¯re turnin¡¯ already,¡± he declared and handed over a collection of papers. ¡°Here¡¯s the full brief an¡¯ what we have on the other guests. Your support is posin¡¯ as a servant, details on ¡®ow to make contact is all in there. Burn after reading, you know the dance steps.¡±


    ¡°I do,¡± Adrey nodded.


    ¡°Arright. I¡¯ll leave ¡®yer to it. Mutt¡¯ll keep lookout. See you next whenever-I-see-¡¯yer, Countess.¡±


    ¡°You too, Skinner. Go safely.¡±


    ¡°Safe as I can.¡± he flipped her a jaunty little salute, and vanished.


    Adrey accepted Mutt¡¯s offer of a cup of tea, and settled in on a rather elderly and lumpy couch to read the briefing. Despite fully knowing the danger she was taking on herself, the largest part of her was incredibly eager and excited for this. This was what she¡¯d signed up for!


    Mutt delivered her tea: she sipped it once, then forgot it existed as she read, made notes, formed her persona, and committed it all to memory. By the time she remembered it existed, it was stone cold.


    No matter. She tossed all the papers except the invitation into the stove, drank the cold tea, and slipped away out into a rainy evening to head home.


    To her surprise and delight, Miss Brooknetter gave her a slightly large serving and insisted she not trouble herself with the dishes tonight. Clearly ¡®Adelia¡¯s¡¯ outburst had left the landlady with rather more respect for her. Or perhaps scared her that a paying tenant was on the verge of leaving. Either way, it was a pleasantly quiet evening in which she was left in peace to plan her persona for the salon.


    By the time she went to bed, she knew exactly who Samandra Bannant was. And she couldn¡¯t wait to be her.


    <hr>


    <blockquote>


    ¡°The first age of free humanity began deep in the mountains of Prathardesh, in inaccessible dells and valleys where not even elfish troops could come easily. The diaries of a number of prominent Fey slave-hunters suggest that expeditions into the mountains to punish the runaways invariably ended in failure, and often in the slaughter of the hunting party, and the elves in their arrogance eventually decided a few runaway slaves could not possibly be a danger. In this way did the seed of the empire¡¯s fall take root¡­¡± ¡ªDenrick Roth, Elves.


    </blockquote>


    <h2>The air above Prathardesh Earthmote</h2>


    Cavalier Quen, Haptar Getesh 09.06.03.12.07


    From the air, Haptar Getesh¡¯s role as a refuge for escaped human slaves during the Ordfey years made perfect sense. A ¡°getesh¡± was a Prathardi term without a clear Garanese translation. It referred to an identified and named region of land, but not a big one. The closest Garanese equivalent might be a ¡°barony,¡± except that getesh, by definition had no baron or lord, or anything at all really. They was unclaimed, unregulated territory. Lawless country.


    The reasons why were the exact same reason humans had fled there in those dark days. The getesh was a sort of bowl or basin in the high mountains near the earthmote¡¯s furthest dexter point, where a ring of blunt cloud-mantled peaks shielded an ovoid valley, and bathed it in nearly perpetual mist and rain as the clouds boiled and rolled back rather than escaping. Waterfalls leaked out here and there among the stubby summits then lingered around their base, creating a deep and slow-moving river whose green-brown waters made most approaches to the getesh impossible.


    Within the bowl, though, the rainforest was spectacular. As the Cavalier Queen swayed and rolled through the turbulence around the valley¡¯s edge and bellied down into calmer air, a flock of vivid birds took off and streamed past the prow.


    One of them, bright green but for the vivid pink of its beak and a black chinstrap, landed on the rail by Jerl¡¯s hand and blinked at him and tilted its head curiously. When he failed to do anything other than look at it, it sidled closer as if expecting something. Then, by whatever avian logic drove such decisions, it sidled away again, emitted a sharp, high, loud call, and took wing again.


    ¡°I think it wanted you to feed it,¡± Derghan commented. He was up on deck to get some fresh air, a drink and a bite to eat, and had stayed up to enjoy the view. Jerl could hardly blame him: it¡¯d be miserable below decks in such hot and humid climes, and Derghan was certainly flushed pink and sweating in the jungle climate.


    ¡°You think they see people often up here?¡± Jerl asked. ¡°It seemed used to humans.¡±


    ¡°Eh. Birds get around.¡± Derghan shrugged and gestured over the rail at the valley now unrolling below them. ¡°So where are these caves?¡±


    ¡°Up in the far end, yonder,¡± Jerl indicated them. ¡°See that waterfall?¡±


    ¡°Right, I remember. Raksuul¡¯s Skirts, right?¡± Derghan nodded, watching them. The falls started out as a single white stream emerging from a crack high in the valley wall, but then splashed into a tooth of stone that jutted out directly below, and ended up raining and foaming down an all sides much like, yes, the fabric of a lacy skirt.


    ¡°Mhm. The caves are under there¡­¡± Jerl aimed his telescope, looking for a good landing site. None immediately presented themselves. The jungle was a craggy green cloud sea presenting no suitable clearings, nor any solo trees standing noticeably taller than the others to serve as a mooring post. And the ring mountains were practically vertical. He had to sweep back and forth and refocus for some minutes before finally spotting something they could use.


    ¡°¡­There. Helm, fifty points to starboard, down slow.¡±


    ¡°Aye aye!¡± Gebby¡¯s hands gave the wheel a sure and well-practiced turn, and the view rotated around them as he effected the maneuver. ¡°New heading is one-oh-eight.¡±


    ¡°Ahead port speed, bring us in for a ladder drop.¡±


    ¡°Derghan¡ª¡± Jerl began, but his friend was already heading below.


    ¡°Way ahead o¡¯ you, boss man.¡±


    Jerl smiled and nodded as the big man vanished to tend to his engines. He could hear Sin and Marren shouting in Feydh and Garanese as the crew attended to the tricky task of bringing an airship in for a low hover. And¡ªhe focused and looked around carefully¡ªyes, there was Mouse stowing some stuff and keeping their Yunei guest out of the way.


    He caught Deng-Nah¡¯s eye. The nobleman returned a polite little nod, then stretched up to continue watching over the rail. This would be the first time he ever set foot on a foreign earthmote, Jerl reasoned. He must be feeling some trepidation.


    For that matter, so was Jerl. Could this whole voyage have been wasted time? He wasn¡¯t following one of Time¡¯s premonitions just¡­interest. Interest and a hunch without any basis in either fact or power. But ever since reading about the caves of Haptar Getesh and seeing the rubbings back at the Thundering Hall, this place had weighed in his mind. There was something about it that called to him and made him want to see the ancient refuge with his own eyes.


    He couldn¡¯t wait to get down on the ground


    <hr>


    An hour later, he was beginning to rethink his eagerness. The air under the trees was a soup, fragrant with the sweet scent of decaying plants and so dense with humidity that the lungs had to drag it in forcefully. Jerl was wearing only a simple linen shirt and light breeches, and both were drenched from his own sweat and clinging to him. Mouse and Sin were both similarly struggling, with Sin in particular looking sluggish and exhausted.


    There was no trail or track in this jungle. Every step involved either find away around some obstacle, or hacking through it. Every ten paces seemed to bring a new fallen log wallowing in the stink of its own decay as insects gnawed its innards, or a dense thicket of vines that may or may not conceal thick, muscular snakes. It wasn¡¯t the walk or the heat alone that drained, but the endless work of making progress.


    The R¨¹wyrdan seemed to be more in their element. Most were wearing nothing at all, beyond the single long, narrow cloth they wound and tied around their loins for underwear. And Deng-Nah seemed not to show any hint of discomfort at all, despite being so short he had to take two steps for every one of Jerl¡¯s. He kept shooting amused looks their way, as though their discomfort amused him.


    ¡°Tell him¡­to stop bloody smirking, would you?¡± Jerl finally complained. Mouse rattled off an incredibly fluent string of the Yunei language, and Deng-Nah paused to bow in apology.


    ¡°We¡­close, yes?¡± he ventured, and gestured up the slope. To judge by the roar and the sweet scent of airborne water, Raksuul¡¯s Skirts were near now.


    ¡°Yes. I think,¡± Jerl agreed. The little man nodded amiably and trudged forward with his machete in hand, continuing to carve a path.


    Jerl had to admit, Deng-Nah was a surprise. Apparently Yunei nobility considered it extremely Improper for a man to be out of shape and weak. A man of Deng-Nah¡¯s status needed to be a capable soldier and able to defend himself. What Deng-Nah lacked in height, he made up for in stamina and a kind of solid, phlegmatic perseverance that let him shrug off the jungle¡¯s hardships and just keep hacking his way through.


    So it was in large part thanks to his efforts that they broke through a hedge of dense, waxy leaves and emerged out onto the slopes of the Skirts. The rock was bare, unless one ignored the moss clinging into every sheltered crack and crevice where it wouldn¡¯t instantly be washed off. Underfoot, the topsoil was entirely washed away to reveal loose debris, through which the water drained to trickle away downhill and form a meandering watercourse that raced off down into the getesh bowl¡¯s depths.


    The caves, in theory, were above them. Though from this angle, Jerl couldn¡¯t see a damn thing.


    Sin scrambled a ways up the slippery wet rock until she could shove her head under the main fall. She sighed in relief, lingered there for perhaps half a minute as she washed away the heat, then hopped back down.


    ¡°Definitely the right spot. I can hear echoing stone up above,¡± she reported.


    ¡°Not an easy climb, even for Fey. Even less easy for Wights,¡± Harad commented. ¡°The slaves who came here were brave and tenacious.¡±


    ¡°Eh.¡± Jerl shrugged. ¡°We¡¯re airshipmen. Climbing is what we do. Come on¡ª¡±


    ¡°No.¡± Harad sat down.


    ¡°¡­Explain?¡±


    ¡°This is a place slaves fled to be free of our cruelty. We are Penitents. We will not tread in their sanctuary.¡±


    Jerl frowned at him, then looked at Sin. ¡°You too?¡±


    She shook her head. ¡°He¡¯s right. But¡­chal-an-chal. I¡¯m sworn to go where you go, if you command it.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s fine. Stay here if you prefer.¡±


    She nodded gratefully and climbed up to a spot where one of the Skirts¡¯ smaller sub-falls rained down, and sat under the cool water with obvious relief.


    Jerl looked to Mouse and Deng-Nah. Mouse just shrugged and did his best to wipe his palms dry. Deng-Nah was looking pensively up at the climb with a calculating eye and his head on one side. Jerl came up beside him and dried his own hands. ¡°You a good climber?¡± he asked.


    Deng-Nah shrugged. ¡°I will¡­try.¡±


    ¡°Fair enough. Up we go, then.¡±


    Harad wasn¡¯t wrong. Even an elf would have struggled in places, and Jerl had seen Sin use magic to shimmy up a wall as though she was part gecko. The cliff face was wet, slicked with moss here and there, and the stone was worn smooth by millennia of water where it wasn¡¯t knife-sharp. He could only assume that the slaves used to reach it by ropes thrown from above, but surely somebody had been first to make the climb?


    Maybe not. If Rheannach herself had founded this place, well¡­she had wings. But Jerl was learning that it wasn¡¯t like Crowns and Heralds to do things for people, that wasn¡¯t their way. They seemed to prefer to teach people that what seemed impossible was more often than not actually within their reach.


    And sure enough, there was a way up. Somebody had chiselled handholds into the stone.


    It certainly wasn¡¯t easy. In fact, it meandered back and forth across the cliff and passed behind the falls twice, and there were many false paths that would have got an unwary climber who didn¡¯t know the proper way into deadly trouble. But Time kicked in, and premonition guided Jerl by the right path just as it had let him know Civorage¡¯s safe combination.


    Deng-Nah came behind him, though he needed a little help here and there where his height kept him from stretching quite far enough. Mouse brought up the rear. There were a couple of near-misses, a moment when Jerl found himself hanging by one hand while Deng-Nah dangled from the other one¡­but eventually Jerl clawed his way up a final ascent and tipped over the lip of a cave mouth to lie flat on his back and rest for a moment.


    Deng-Nah patted his shoulder gratefully, but didn¡¯t sit down.


    ¡°Thank.¡±


    Jerl flapped a hand to convey ¡®no problem¡¯ but said nothing as Mouse labored up over the edge and joined him on the ground to catch his breath.


    ¡°Fuck¡­me,¡± he gasped.


    Despite his own fatigue, Jerl couldn¡¯t resist: ¡°Too tired,¡± he said. ¡°Ask me later.¡±


    Mouse snorted.


    They lay there recovering awhile. The cave¡¯s ceiling was nothing much to look at, being, well, the ceiling of a cave. It was made of rock. The rock was grey. The mist and fume of the falls made it wet, and here and there the wetness ran down to drop from the roof and leave behind the slim stone barbels that would one day be stalactites, but it really was nothing special. Not worth the climb at all, he thought.


    Then he sat up, and changed his mind entirely.


    <hr>


    <blockquote>


    Foreigners arriving on Garanhir for the first time often assume it is a single greatly united culture, and that the differences between, for example, Enerlend and Oderlend are no more pronounced than the differences between opposite ends of the same town. And to a large degree this is true, but the details can be tricksome. For instance, for persons of the same sex to dance together at a formal event would be scandalous in Frudlend, thrilling in Urstlend, unremarkable in Enerlend, and expected in Oderlend. Such myriad confounding subtleties are present all across the Nested Worlds, and so I must beg the reader to bear them in mind while they enjoy my impression of other cultures. ¡ªPrince Ruber of Valai, preface to MyTravels.


    </blockquote>


    <h2>The How-Do-You-Do</h2>


    The Walled City, Auldenheigh, Enerlend 09.06.03.12.07


    Samandra Bannant stepped down out of her carriage with her back ramrod straight, gave the manor a judgemental look as though comparing it unfavorably to her own manse, then produced a brass coin from her purse to tip the driver. With this minor courtesy done, she dug out the little filigreed silver bar of her folding reading glasses, peered through them at the invitation, gave the bodice of her gown a sharp tug, patted her hair, and strode up to the front doors.


    The invitation was inspected and passed inspection without comment¡ªas of course it would be¡ªand a young footman escorted her into the manor, handed her off to the announcer, then returned to the front door and left Samandra to wait impatiently while the three others ahead of her were announced.


    She listened intently as they were called, matching faces to the lineages and names she¡¯d studied so dilligently in preparation for tonight. The Peerage Review was an annual circular in high society, and an invaluable aid as a who¡¯s-who: Samandra, naturally, had it memorized.


    The real Samandra Bannant, of course, was not present. In actual point of fact, there was no ¡°real¡± Samandra Bannant at all, as she was an invention of Lord Gilber Drevin and the Blackdrake Network. Ostensibly, she was a gentlewoman who had inherited a modest fortune and an estate on the River Afan after her parents passed away without a male heir.


    Still, she had existed in the Peerage Review since even before Ellaenie went into exile. Lord Drevin had maintained such convenient falsehoods even then, and now his foresightedness had paid off beautifully.


    Samandra tidied her clothes and patted her hair again as she stepped up to be announced, then gave the footman a small, tight, imperious nod.


    ¡°Miss Samandra Bannant!¡±


    A few nearby guests glanced at her, and she saw some fans come up and sidelong whispers propagate. An unescorted lady at a party like this? There would be gossip of course. But that was all to the good, it meant somebody¡¯s curiosity would get the better of them before long.


    For now, she did the socially unfashionable thing and headed straight for the buffet as though the other guests were of much less importance than the canap¨¦s.


    Adrey was rather proud of her Samandra persona. She¡¯d worked hard to cultivate the exact blend of personality traits that might explain a woman in her late twenties being unmarried but still likable enough. The result, far from the shy and socially awkward creature she¡¯d first experimented with, was a blunt and plain-spoken woman, quite formidable in a way that would only appeal to a very particular kind of man.


    She surveyed the Hors d''Oeuvres with the posture of one who was long-sighted but far too proud to actually admit to it, though in fact Adrey was taking note of the servants. Where was¡­? ¡ªah! There!


    She raised a hand and twitched her fingers at the slim, ginger-haired young man with the drinks tray, and he hastened over. ¡°Ma¡¯am?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t suppose the wine cellar has Sangiovese Urstoine? The five-fourteen vintage?¡±


    A twinkle of recognition in his eye told her she had the right man. ¡°It does, ma¡¯am, but alas Milord Lendwick has reserved it for the family¡¯s use,¡± he replied, giving the correct shibboleth.


    ¡°Ah¡­pity. oh¡­I¡¯ll have whatever that is you have there, then.¡± She flapped a hand vaguely at the bottle on his tray.¡±


    ¡°Of course, ma¡¯am.¡±


    He turned so that his face could not be seen as he poured, and lowered his voice. As he did so, he fished a small key from his pocket. ¡°Your weapons are stashed in the music room, inside the box seat in the window alcove. The key opens all the servants¡¯ doors, your best egress is through the scullery. Leading-dexter corner of the building, go widdershins around the house through the herb garden and you¡¯ll find the delivery gate.¡±


    Adrey nodded. ¡°What have you seen so far?¡±


    ¡°No Encircled in evidence, but watch out for Captain Dalsdottir, Mister and Missus Pelton and Mister de Rushprer. I¡¯ve already heard them speaking very favorable of the Church of the One.¡±


    ¡°Thank you,¡± Adrey murmured, taking the wine, and the key along with it. The latter she slipped in her pocket as she sipped the wine, then looked around the room, taking in the guests as her contact excused himself. Captain Bree Dalsdottir was already a known figure, and easily recognized by her brilliant blonde hair and tattoos¡ªClan Dal used abstract rune-like patterns composed entirely of straight lines. The woman was ostensibly a freemerchant, but everyone knew she¡¯d been a devout Oneist for some years now. Not Encircled, though. A true believer. Or, just hoping to retire to a life of luxury and indolence when the Oneists completed their conquest.


    Perhaps tonight would confirm which.


    The other three were less known to her. The Peltons were just what Samandra was: quite wealthy but not truly important. They were, however, openly wearing the steel ring just like Captain Dalsdottir. Interesting. She¡¯d have to learn more about them, certainly.


    As for Mister de Rushprer¡­Urstoin, surely. He was dressed far more colorfully than the other guests, and holding forth with considerable dash, charm and flamboyance for an audience of rather star-struck debutantes.


    ¡°Pardon me, Miss¡­Bannant, wasn¡¯t it?¡±


    Samandra turned, tilting her head back to get a better look at the man who¡¯d approached her. ¡°Ah! Yes, indeed. And you would be¡­?¡±


    ¡°Mister Jems Fenrille.¡± He offered her a handshake. Adrey knew the name, and memorized his face to attach to it. Not difficult: Fenton was quite average in most regards, but his bald pate and much-cultivated mustache with its curling tips were quite memorable. ¡°This is my wife, Carad.¡±


    The two ladies curtseyed to each other. ¡°Charmed,¡± Samandra said politely. ¡°Always a pleasure to make new acquaintances.¡±


    ¡°Quite so, quite so¡­¡± Fenrille agreed, and launched into¡­well, the usual routine. Small talk, niceties, gossip, a brief potted history of their respective lives which anyone who¡¯d read the Peerage Review would already know, but this was the done thing at these sorts of events.


    Adrey dived into it, and the hours rolled past in a blur of socializing. It was¡­fun, actually. A lot of fun! Of course the last salon she¡¯d attended had been the one thrown by Ellaenie¡¯s aunt and uncle, before the Dukesmoot. The one where Civorage had shown up in person and Ellie had escaped by a narrow inch at best¡­and Lisze had been turned.


    At first, she worked her way through the outer circles, the plus-ones and hangers-on, the people who wanted to become movers and shakers by associating with the right kind of people.


    Then, after a deft little bit of wordplay and an astute comment or two while dancing, she was associating with the right people herself.


    The first real challenge came from a not unexpected quarter at all.


    ¡°Miss Bannant? If you have room on your dance card, my dear, I would be delighted to get to know you¡­¡±


    Samandra smiled at the invitation. ¡°For you, Mrs. Pelton, of course I have room.¡± She rose, Pelton took her hand, and they joined the latest dance while Adrey willed her heart not to pound too hard. This was exactly what she¡¯d been angling toward for the last two hours, don¡¯t mess it up now¡­


    ¡°You know, Lord Lendwick was quite surprised to learn you¡¯d come,¡± Mrs. Pelton commented as they stood on the sidelines while the first couple twirled in the circle in front of them. ¡°You¡¯re apparently quite notorious for declining invitations¡­¡±


    ¡°This has been my first opportunity since I was a girl,¡± Samandra explained.


    ¡°Oh really?¡±


    ¡°Yes. My maiden aunt was rather dependent on me¡­¡±


    ¡°Ah. I take it she¡¯s no longer with us?¡±


    ¡°Passed away just recently. A mercy, in the end. She was¡­not really herself any longer.¡±


    ¡°Oh, my condolences. Such illnesses are terrible.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re very kind to say so.¡±


    It was their turn to do an orbit around the middle. Adrey took the opportunity to exhale a little tension. That had been a probing question, a hint of suspicion. But the reply was watertight. Samandra¡¯s entry in the Review included mention of a maiden aunt. She¡¯d have to pass along for the aunt¡¯s death to be mentioned in the papers. Details, details¡­


    ¡°I suppose that rather explains the lack of plus-one tonight, my dear,¡± Pelton added as they reunited.


    ¡°Alas, yes. I am not overly troubled. Really, the nice thing about my position is I inherited the estate myself, and shan¡¯t have to pass it on except to whomever I choose. It¡¯s rather liberating, really.¡±


    ¡°If you¡¯re happy so, of course.¡±


    ¡°Oh, I think I am¡­¡±


    ¡°Hmm.¡± Pelton mused. ¡°I should say it sounds lonely.¡±


    ¡°I suppose, a little. I¡¯m quite used to it, though.¡±


    ¡°Oh, I don¡¯t see why you should have to be, though. A woman deserves friends, even if her heart doesn¡¯t yearn for a husband.¡±


    Samandra laughed softly. ¡°Perhaps. Though I fear I am terrible at making friends. The knack seems to escape me. I have this awful habit of speaking my mind, you see¡­¡±


    Another whirl through the middle. When they reunited, Pelton was smiling. ¡°And what is on your mind right now, Miss Bannant?¡±


    ¡°That a woman like you doesn¡¯t simply approach a woman like me and strike up a conversation about friendship by happenstance.¡±


    Pelton gave her a closed, unreadable look. ¡°¡­You¡¯re very shrewd, Miss Bannant.¡±


    ¡°Am I, indeed? Or am I just cynical?¡±


    Pelton laughed. ¡°¡­Perhaps there is little difference? But you are right. I was leading toward something.¡±


    ¡°Please, Mrs. Pelton, there is no need to hold back.¡±


    ¡°Hmm¡­well, a question for you. What do you think of the Church of the One?¡±


    Samandra blinked. ¡°I think I don¡¯t know enough to have a well-reasoned opinion one way or another,¡± she said, buying time. Crowns, what was the right answer here? If Pelton was trying to assess her, to see if she was a better target for Encirclement or for recruitment into their ranks of the free collaborators¡­


    The latter. She needed it to be the latter. But how? What angle would Pelton like but not find suspiciously likable?


    Fortunately, the turn and whirl of the dance bought her a precious minute to think. By the time she¡¯d found Pelton again, she¡¯d decided on an approach.


    ¡°I have heard good things,¡± she said the instant she and Mrs. Pelton were back in their positions, picking up the conversation as though it had never been interrupted. ¡°About charitable works and so on. And of course, his Grace the Duke has embraced it, hasn¡¯t he?¡±


    ¡°But¡­?¡± Pelton prompted.


    ¡°But I doubt it¡¯s for me. I daresay the lonely and the desperate and the sick might find some comfort in it, but for my part¡­well, Aunt Bella¡¯s gone and much as I loved the old girl, I¡¯m eager to get on with living. You understand.¡±


    Pelton smiled sympathetically. ¡°I understand. All too well, alas.¡±


    ¡°Alas,¡± Samandra echoed. ¡°Who was it for you?¡±


    ¡°My father.¡±


    ¡°My condolences.¡±


    ¡°You are most kind.¡° They traded the mutual small smile of women hardened by their life circumstances. Mrs. Pelton wasn¡¯t yet satisfied, however. ¡°And what is your idea of living, Miss Bannant?¡±


    ¡°Some great work, I thought. Something to put my name in the history books. After all, generations of women come and go, passing on their legacy through their children, but¡­I¡¯d rather be remembered by more than just my loved ones. I rather fancy a life worthy of a state funeral. Assuming I must have one at all.¡±


    Mrs. Pelton chuckled. ¡°My, you don¡¯t want much, do you?¡±


    ¡°Just the world, all its riches and immortality, Mrs. Pelton.¡±


    Pelton laughed outright this time, hastily snapping her fan open to cover it. Genteel etiquette, and all that. ¡°Miss Bannant, you are a woman of singular ambition, though you do seem to be lacking in the virtue of humility.¡±


    ¡°Guilty as charged, of course,¡± Samandra replied, snapping her own fan open to conceal her grin. The dance came to an end and they bowed to the other couples before retreating from the dance floor. ¡°But do you not agree?¡±


    ¡°As a matter of fact, I do.¡± Mrs. Pelton smiled and they exchanged curtseys, as dance partners who were parting ways for now. ¡°Miss Bannant, may I say, you are a delight. You must come to tea, soon.¡±


    ¡°I would be delighted.¡±


    And that, Adrey felt as they turned away to find new conversation, was very possibly mission accomplished. She ambled over to the buffet again to refill on both wine and intelligence from her contact.


    ¡°Nothing to report,¡± he commented as he poured.


    That was good. And Adrey knew better than to get greedy in any regard while on the job. She¡¯d struck up a rapport with one of the Oneist conspirators, and that was already an excellent start. To go after any more would be to overreach. The thing to do now was to simply enjoy the party while remaining sober, and leave when it would not cause comment.


    So she did exactly that. Though she did note a moment late in the night when the Oneists all slipped discreetly from the roomr. She briefly contemplated sneaking away and eavesdropping on their meeting, but could find no good opportunity, and in any case it was a risk she didn¡¯t have to take. Not yet.


    In any case, the conspirators were not gone long. They returned about half an hour late by ones and twos, and the rest of the evening passed uneventfully. Two more hours of dancing and conversation yielded no further progress, but no disasters either, and Adrey eventually left about the same time as most of the other guests. The curfew, it seemed, did not apply to this particular group of gentry.


    She couldn¡¯t return directly to Hatpin, of course. Miss Brooknetter and the others would definitely have taken note if their Adelia walked in disguised as a completely different woman. So, she spent the night at the Spilman Hotel, wrote her report while she was theres, delivered it to the pre-arranged dead drop on the way home, and arrived at Miss Brooknetter¡¯s lodging house two hours after dawn.


    The house smelled of breakfast: smoked kippers and poached eggs. Most of the lodgers were out, but Miss Brooknetter poked her head out of the kitchen as Adrey entered. There was a moment of tense silence as the two women considered each other.


    Then Miss Brooknetter cleared her throat. ¡°I kept a plate of breakfast hot for you, Mrs. Rubb.¡±


    ¡°Th-thank you, Miss Brooknetter. That¡¯s very k-kind.¡±


    ¡°All well with work, Mrs. Rubb?¡±


    ¡°No c-complaints, thank you.¡±


    ¡°Well that¡¯s good. Hang up your coat and I¡¯ll brew a cup for you.¡±


    Adrey did so, wondering when the old Esme Brooknetter was going to resurface¡­but she didn¡¯t. Quite the opposite, the old girl seemed oddly relaxed for some reason. Was that suspicious?


    ¡­Maybe. But it was also welcome. So for now, Adrey decided to just accept it. She had more important things on her mind anywy. Like whether she was going to have tea with Mrs. Pelton. That would be a risk, putting her firmly in the elf¡¯s parlor, as the saying went. But on the other hand, if she could actually infiltrate the free conspirators, then she¡¯d have succeeded beyond the Blackdrake¡¯s wildest dreams. She¡¯d just have to wait and see what Drevin, Dragon and Skinner had to say.


    Until then, she ate her breakfast in silence, and was glad of the change of pace


    She felt like she was doing good work.

 Chapter 19: The Caves of Haptar Getesh (pt. 2)

    <blockquote>


    Peculiarly, though the Crowns took pains to ensure the earthmotes were populated with a dizzying variety of different plants and animals, some species clearly occupy a special place fo favor and were made ubiquitous. These are mostly food staples such as potatoes and rice, or domestic animals such as sheep, cattle and horses. And, for some reason, tea and coffee. ¡ªLeothr Hagardsson, The Shape of Worlds


    </blockquote>


    <h2>The Caves of Haptar Getesh</h2>


    Prathardesh Earthmote 09.06.03.12.08


    Deng-Nah had never been in a cave before. They couldn¡¯t all be like this, could they? This, all by itself, might be a sight worth leaving home for.


    Jerl had spoken vaguely of steles and bas-reliefs in these caves that hinted at some ancient mystery of the Crowns and Heralds and the first free humans. Nothing he¡¯d described¡ª-or, to judge from his expression, read¡ªhad prepared them for the vista now laid out before them.


    The stone¡­glowed.


    Or¡­or rather, veins in the stone glowed. There were striations of quartz or some other crystal running through the rock, and some magic was still alive within it (Where? How? From what source?) for the veins shed light about as bright as a candle or oil lantern as they ran through the walls and even shone through the thin layer of mineral deposition on the floor. Color flowed through the living rock, now hearth yellow, now as green as copper salts, now bluer than indigo.


    The cave¡¯s floor, unsurprisingly, was a shallow pool so entirely still and clear that it should have reflected its environment with mirror perfection. Instead, the light that shone up from underneath to give the water an eerie radiance and cast shifting dappled patterns all about the roof and walls. Here and there, as the cave wended its way back into the mountainside, a crack or fissure admitted some daylight and falling water, and plants clustered around these in reaching thickets that piled atop and battled with each other for a taste of the sun.


    But not all the cave was choked with plants or gleaming with magic. To either side of the pool, the wall had been extensively chiseled and polished back to the bare rock and made smooth and flat with unbelievable dilligence and effort. Into this canvas of stone had been carved¡­


    Well. Therein lay the tragedy. Across thousands of years, not even stone was a permanent medium, especially not here where the fume of waterfalls and the humid fog lingered in the air and settled on every surface. What had once been deep, clearly graven, sharp and clear was now blurred to the point of invisibility behind a milky film of deposited minerals that reminded Deng-Nah of candle wax.


    Even so, it was one of the most incredibly beautiful things he¡¯d ever laid eyes on.


    The centerpiece was a statue, out in the middle of the water. It was the work of ancient sculptors with primitive tools and only whatever art the very beginnings of the craft could yield, and the result was anatomically incorrect in several regards. The face in particular was oddly proportioned, the eyes over-large and angled outwards, the hair a mere craggy blob, the hands tiny and really only suggested at by three parallel scores in the stone at the end of skinny, undetailed arms.


    But it was unquestionably the Herald of the Beloved. Raksuul. Rheannach. The Protector of Men. There was no mistaking the love those ancient people had poured into their creation, crude though it was to Deng-Nah¡¯s sensibilities.


    Jerl stirred first. He muttered something Deng-Nah only half-caught. ¡°We need to go¡­¡± something. Deeper, probably. Or further. Setting deed to word, he drew a magestone from his pouch and tucked it into the clever little mesh-fronted pocket that Deng-Nah had noted many Garanese wore on their outer clothes. A sensible solution that: it let them benefit from the light and still have both hands free. Jerl had a similar pocket on his back, presumably to illuminate all around him in Eclipse.


    For his part, Deng-Nah stopped, swept up a loose pebble, and illuminated it before following.


    The cave divided as it went back, winding in two directions. Jerl seemed to know the way, and Deng-Nah noted a certain surety of step. This was not the route of a man remembering details he¡¯d previously memorized or read. He sounded more like he was listening to a voice only he could hear.


    Premonition. If that was the right word to describe what Mouse had explained. As Nah understood it, Jerl had already seen the many winding roads of the future like a man poring over a map. And he had seen one particular road, or a particular series of roads that must be taken to reach the desired destination. And at times such as these, he remembered.


    So. Even though Deng-Nah rapidly lost his way as the cave wound and twisted awkwardly, now up, now down, now left, now right, now so narrow Jerl could barely fit through and then cavernous enough that the Golden River or the Herald of Lore could have occupied them comfortable, they never lost their way.


    Soon, it became clear they were in the places where people hade once lived. these were dry, the floor having been carved here so that the water was channelled into a narrow, fast run over smooth stone that made little spray or humidity. They passed ranks of alcoves cut into the walls, each just large enough for one or two to sleep in and keep some personal items. It seemed a cramped and undignified existence to Deng-Nah¡­but then again, he had never been a slave of the Ordfey. To the escaped humans of those ancient times, perhaps this had been a palace?


    Through all its meanderings and strange turns, though, the cave angled ever downwards, through chambers clearly expanded and modified for human use, though the precise functions had long been lost to the years.


    ¡°No furniture¡­¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s that?¡± Mouse asked.


    ¡°I said¡­there¡¯s no furniture. They had furniture in the Ordfey, I¡¯m sure of it. And of course, the slaves were the ones who made it, so the escaped slaves would know how¡­so where is it all?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s been thousands of years. Maybe it just didn¡¯t survive?¡±


    ¡°No hint of it at all? No bowls or cups? No knives or any other tool? Look:¡± Nah gestured toward a spot along the near wall where a depression had been carved, or some natural hollow enlarged. ¡°That was a surely a hearth, and the air here is still. Even now, after all this time, shouldn¡¯t there be some sign of ashes? What does wood ash become after thousands of years in a cave?¡±


    ¡°I have no idea,¡± Mouse admitted.


    ¡°Nor I, but I imagine it does not evaporate.¡±


    ¡°So¡­what? Somebody cleaned out the ashes and scrubbed the stone, and there was never another one.¡±


    ¡°That is strangely orderly, don¡¯t you think?¡±


    Jerl chuckled and said something. He was speaking Garanese, yet somehow Nah understood him perfectly: Mouse¡¯s doing, no doubt. ¡°Your people are very Proper,¡± he pointed out. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t you do the same if you were leaving behind a sacred place that had protected your clan for generations?¡±


    ¡°I¡­suppose we would,¡± Deng-Nah conceded.


    ¡°Well, that¡¯s what they did. After the Ordfey fell, there was no longer any reason to hide here. This is no place to build a civilization, is it? No trade, no room to expand, little cells to sleep in¡­better than being raped to death by an elf, but they must have dreamed of the day when they could finally leave this sanctuary behind.¡±


    ¡°So what is it you expect to find here?¡± Nah asked.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡± Jerl shrugged. ¡°Something.¡±


    ¡°The Lady of Mists told you about the four Heralds who turned away from the Crowns. Do you expect to find more about them here?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± Jerl repeated. ¡°Lady Haust didn¡¯t tell me everything. Lady Haust doesn¡¯t know everything, for that matter. I just know that we need to be here. It¡¯s one of the things that has to happen for us to win.¡±


    ¡°¡­This power of yours seems frustrating.¡±


    ¡°Speaking of which, do you still have your family¡¯s word vault?¡±


    ¡°Of course.¡±


    ¡°Good¡­.good.¡±


    Deng-Nah frowned. ¡°Do you think¡­we¡¯re going to learn how to open it, here?¡±


    Jerl shrugged. ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡±


    ¡°I see. I suppose there is nothing for it but to continue forward, then.¡±


    Jerl nodded, and dropped to his hands and knees to squeeze himself at a crawl through an opening that was low even by Deng-Nah¡¯s standards


    Mouse followed him, and Deng-Nah came last, ducking to fit under the low spot and scooting forward in a low crouch-walk rather than dropping to all fours. ¡°You know what I notice?¡± he asked as they went.


    ¡°What?¡± Mouse asked, navigating around a bulge in the rock.


    ¡°No guano. This place ought to be a prime roost for bats, but there is no sign of them having ever used these caves.¡±


    Mouse paused. Nah felt rather than saw his frown. ¡°That is weird¡­¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s the magic,¡± Jerl said.


    ¡°True. I suppose a cave that¡¯s never dark wouldn¡¯t attract them¡­¡±


    ¡°I meant more than that¡­¡± Jerl grunted as the passage opened up and allowed him to stand. ¡°Can¡¯t you feel it? There¡¯s something far more than just light down here. Crowns, I wish Amir was a better climber¡­we¡¯ll have to rig up a ladder for him or something. I want his insight.¡±


    ¡°Or the Duchess,¡± Mouse pointed out. ¡°I mean¡­it¡¯s old magic, isn¡¯t it? It¡¯d be more like the Craft than the Art, I bet.¡±


    ¡°Eh, I know Amir and Ellaenie both like to protest their schools of magic are very different, but I have my doubts. I think there¡¯s just magic, you know? It¡¯s like¡­engines versus sail. Either way, it¡¯s still an airship.¡±


    ¡°I have my doubts about that metaphor,¡± Nah commented as he followed Mouse out of the crawlspace. Jerl chuckled.


    ¡°You can come up with the next one,¡± he promised. ¡°Uh¡­huh. I don¡¯t know which way to go from here.¡±


    ¡°Your premonition has ended?¡±


    ¡°No, I¡­I think we¡¯ve arrived.¡±


    Nah looked around. The chamber they were in as, unlike all the ones before it, unlit. No veins of enchanted crystal thrummed in the walls, so that the only illumination was Jerl¡¯s magestone in the pocket on his breast. Even so, its glow revealed side chambers and passages plunging away into the subterranean darkness.


    He shivered, grateful that here, on this high and sun-close earthmote, there was little danger of Shades. Though he had always wondered what it was that caused them to emerge in Eclipse. If it was the shadow cast by the earthmote itself, then might they not haunt the deep underground?


    ¡°Now you¡¯ve got me wondering the same thing,¡± Mouse muttered, fretfully. ¡°Jerl¡ª¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re safe.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re sure?¡±


    ¡°Anywhere else, we wouldn¡¯t be. But we¡¯re safe here. This place is protected.¡±


    ¡°Protected by what, though?¡±


    ¡°The same magic that lit our way.¡±


    Nah and Mouse traded a glance, wearing identical frowns. Nah thumbed his sword¡¯s handle for comfort, and followed the captain as Jerl raised a second lightstone and led them forward.


    ¡°You seem to have all these answers already,¡± he said. ¡°Why do we even need to be here?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t have the answers. I¡¯m¡­¡± Jerl sighed, paused, and turned. ¡°We¡¯re talking now. You¡¯re still speaking your tongue, I¡¯m still speaking mine, and yet here we understand each other perfectly thanks to Mouse¡¯s power. How is it we¡¯re managing that now, when we couldn¡¯t back on the ship?¡±


    ¡°I¡­assumed it was a matter of learning. I heave learned much of Garanese during our voyage. I thought perhaps now I was¡­close enough, somehow?¡±


    Mouse shook his head, frowning. ¡°No¡­it¡¯s easier here. Much easier. Your thoughts are clearer to me and easier to translate, as though my Word is more available here, somehow.¡±


    ¡°Exactly.¡± Jerl turned back toward the middle of ther oom. There was a great stalagmite there, its top cut flat and level as though someone had run a hot knife sideways through the wax pile of a long-extinct candle. ¡°Mine is, too. And Time is¡­it¡¯s a weird, weird thing. It¡¯s not just ever forwards. There¡¯s backwards too, of course, but there¡¯s also sideways, and up and down. Time is a space all its own¡­¡±


    ¡°Now I cannot understand you any longer,¡± said Deng-Nah.


    ¡°I¡¯m saying¡­I¡¯m saying in this place, Time lets me know what I would know if I had walked a completely different path in life. If Jerl Holten wasn¡¯t an airship captain, but a navigator and mage, or a scholar, or even a Crownspouse. There are other versions of me, just¡­¡± he waved a hand vaguely. ¡°¡­Just¡­a little over thataway. They¡¯re not real, I¡¯m the only real one, this is the only real time. But I can still¡­glean something from them. But they¡¯re all parallel to me. I can only know what they would already know or have figured out by now. None of them know exactly what we¡¯re about to find¡­¡±


    Nah blinked, but Mouse nodded. Clearly, somehow, he understood.


    Jerl reached out a hand and stroked it across the truncated stalactite¡¯s smooth surface. ¡°It¡¯s like¡­it¡¯s like the bones of reality are a little closer to the surface here. Crowns, the language doesn¡¯t even exist to describe it. This is¡­a very special place. I think it¡¯s the work of a Herald.¡±


    ¡°But which one? Rheannach?¡± asked Mouse.


    Jerl looked up. ¡°¡­I¡­don¡¯t know. But¡­it doesn¡¯t seem like her. There are other versions of me who know her well, and¡­they don¡¯t think so. Ugh¡­¡± A pained expression flashed across his face and he took a step back. ¡°It¡¯s too much. I can¡¯t look sideways to the real sequence of events too long or it starts to¡­.¡± he took a steadying breath, and didn¡¯t finish the thought.


    ¡°So why are we here?¡± Deng-Nah asked.


    ¡°Because¡­because we need to be here. Because this is part of the plan. This is one of the places we need to be and one of the things we have to do, to beat Civorage in the end.¡±


    ¡°What do we have to do?¡±


    Jerl frowned, looked back at him, looked around, looked up and down and around. All about them the walls had been polished smooth, not quite to a mirror shine but still as clean and uniform as an eggshell. Other than that, the table, and the dark passages leading down into the mountains¡¯ roots, there was not a thing to be seen.


    ¡°I¡­don¡¯t know.¡±


    <hr>


    <blockquote>


    Oracular magic¡ªthat is, attempts to glean information about future events through the use of magic¡ªis believed to be possible, though no practitioner has yet achieved a degree of precision, clarity and reproducibility in their results sufficient to satisfy the rigorous demands of scholarship. Whether the problem is one of skill, available energy, or simply the ever-shifting possibilities of the future is a matter of ongoing debate ¡ªarticle in the Navigators¡¯ Observatory quarterly newsletter


    </blockquote>


    <h2>The Oasis</h2>


    Crownspouse suites, Sayf¡¯s Palace 09.06.03.12.08


    Lisze had needed something to occupy her mind for the sake of her own peace, and Ellaenie had found it in little Saoirse. after all, Lisze had been her trusted friend and Lady-in-Waiting, so she could be a trusted minder and governess instead. But there was a less innocent reason, too: the worst of Lisze¡¯s struggles, the one thing that gave her nightmares more than any other.


    The fact that she¡¯d been¡­well. Bred.


    The thought filled Ellaenie¡¯s throat with queasy hatred. Her friend, the closest thing she had to a sister, had been used like some barnyard animal. Even now, in freedom, the evidence of it was plain in the way her belly was slowly growing once more.


    There had been a hard conversation on that subject. A lot of soul-searching by Lisze, questions about what the pregnancy meant for her in light of the nonconsensual nature of how it came to be, whether the child would be a joy or a constant reminder of her enslavement¡­and a question about what the refined oils of common rue, hellebore and scammony, pennyroyal could do. What women had used them for since time immemorial when faced with a¡­difficult pregnancy.


    It was certainly within Ellaenie¡¯s power and ability to brew up such a potion. But she had never done so, didn¡¯t want to, and was glad when Lisze decided against it.


    ¡°It¡¯s not the little one¡¯s fault,¡± she had said, touching her bump with a sad expression. ¡°Why should we punish him? He can be the one good thing that comes out of it¡­¡±


    Ellaenie had nodded, but she¡¯d known Lisze was only voicing half the reason. Somewhere out there were seven more children, presumably being raised by a Circle somewhere. Lisze hadn¡¯t felt their loss while trapped in the permanent happy fugue state of the Encircled, but now that she was confronting real motherhood, her thoughts kept turning to the babies she¡¯d birthed but never known.


    Ellaenie had hoped that time with Saoirse would help, but the arrangement had worked more perfectly than she dared believe. Lisze and Saoirse adored each other, almost from the very first, and to a witch¡¯s Sight even a mere glance was enough to see that the black, hollow coldness that still lurked in Lisze¡¯s heart was kindled to a warm glow just by Saoirse¡¯s presence.


    Saoirse, for her part, was delighted by the idea of having a cousin.


    Being able to leave the two of them in each others¡¯ expert care had been exactly what Ellaenie needed, granting her the time to plan, research, train and strategize. The situation on Garanhir remained bleak, especially with the curfew and lockdowns in Auldenheigh. The reports coming through Gilber Drevin and his Blackdrake Network suggested much public unease and dissatisfaction, but not mucin the way of actual fighting back. Not yet, at least.


    An update from Adrey contained a glimmer of hope, though. She¡¯d found no potential allies at the salon, but had a possible in-roads to getting close with the free collaborators. That was good work, even though it put a knot of terrible anxiety in Ellaenie¡¯s gut at the thought of her friend taking on such risk¡­


    She signed what was required, wrote some notes and letters, then settled in and tinkered with her potions for a bit. Alchemy was not an easy discipline, and she considered herself far from being a master of it, yet¡­Though her Word was making an increasing difference in that regard.


    The trick to it was that while magic couldn¡¯t be permanently fixed into a brew, thanks to the Law of Refinement, it could be used in the process of extracting oils, brewing tinctures, blending, mixing, infusing, lixiviation, centrifugal separation and titration to yield results that were far more than the mere physical acts alone could produce.


    The theory behind it was deep, rich, complex, arcane and frustratingly incomplete, and so far as Ellaenie could tell the best treatise anyone had ever written on the subject was Lerrimer¡¯s ¡°Alchemy: The Third Magic.¡± Which began with the admission that the author had no idea why it worked, only that it did work.


    Thanks to her Word, Ellaenie was beginning to think she might be able to write a book of her own on the subject, one day.


    She was interrupted in her work, however, by a knock on her study door.


    Lisze gave her an apologetic smile. ¡°You got a minute?¡±


    ¡°Always. What do you need?¡±


    ¡°Oh, I don¡¯t need¡­it¡¯s¡­you should come and look at your daughter for a minute.¡±


    There was nothing concerning in Lisze¡¯s request, as such, but it piqed Ellaenie¡¯s concern all the same. She followed Lisze through into the parlor, where at first glance there was nothing unusual going on. The glass doors were open allowing in the scents and sounds of the Oasis, a warm breeze, the cry of peacocks, the aroma of blooms and fruit trees. Idyllic, really.


    Saoirse was playing with her dolls in the middle of the floor. Nothing unusual there, either. The girl¡¯s high little voice crooned and muttered musically as she tromped the dolls around herself and across some of the furniture. Unburdened of any need to actually communicate clearly with adults, she wasn¡¯t bothering to concentrate on proper enunciation, so the result was just a sort of wholesome background noise that Ellaenie had long since stopped paying particularly close attention to.


    It was an adorable sight, one to bring a smile to her lips and a swell of maternal love to her heart, but not significant enough for Lisze to come and fetch her, surely?


    Lisze saw the question in her look, and mouthed the words ¡°listen closely,¡± raising a hand to her ear for emphasis. Ellaenie frowned at her, then did so, tuning in to the childish babble.


    It¡­turned out to not be so childish.


    In fact, Saoirse was doing three voices. One was high and keen, the other lower and more mellow, and one wasn¡¯t even speaking Garanese at all. As Ellaenie listened she spoke three syllables in¡­what was that, Yunei?


    ¡°Mo shiashu¡­¡± she muttered, softly, then louder in the high voice: ¡°What¡¯s that?¡±


    This was followed by a longer string of Yunei, then: ¡°It¡¯s been thousands of years. Maybe it just didn¡¯t survive?¡±


    A very long string of Yunei know, ending in a questioning uptick. ¡°I have no idea¡ª W¡¯iye moyo, da wo ya bo i zhoufa?¡¯ ¡ª ¡®So¡­what? Somebody cleaned out the ashes and scrubbed the stone, and there was never another one¡¯ ¡ª ¡®Bu juje mi, qan lilua he jo shu.¡¯ ¡ª ¡®Your people are very Proper. Wouldn¡¯t you do the same if you were leaving behind a sacred place that had protected your clan for generations?¡±


    Ellaenie blinked. Somehow, in her high, childish voice, Saoirse was doing an amazing job of imitating Mouse and Jerl. It wasn¡¯t just her voice, though: to the Sight, she almost saw the flickers of their caged demons and deep personalities coming and going, like clouds scudding across the sky. Jerl¡¯s was sloth, the kind of golden retriever-like laziness of wanting nothing more than an easy, untroubled life where he could sleep in the sun and fly around on his ship and make a comfortable living. Mouse¡¯s was anxious self-discomfort, the feeling of not sitting quite right in his skin and being half-glad that nobody could see him unless he allowed it. And this third voice, the unknown Yunei, his demon was a new and young one, newly caged: homesickness and the terrible nagging fear that he¡¯d made a mistake.


    To see such things in a six year old girl playing with her dolls was truly unsettling.


    ¡°¡­Hey, Pickle.¡± She crossed the room and sat down next to her daughter. ¡°What are you playing?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not playin¡¯¡­¡± Saoirse explained, seriously. ¡°I¡¯m listenin¡¯.¡±


    ¡°Listening, darling?¡±


    ¡°Yeah! To Mister Jerl an¡¯ Mister Mouse an¡¯ Mister Deng-Nah.¡± She waggled each of the dolls in turn. Jerl, apparently, was a fluffy and floppy-eared dog, Mouse was, appropriately enough, a patchwork mouse, and the third man, this Deng-Nah, was the smallest of the three, a bear. ¡°They found a special place in a cave.¡±


    Ellaenie listened to the explanation with some confusion. Saoirse was exhibiting some powerful magic indeed, and not for the first time. That whole business with her dreams alerting her to Lisze¡¯s suicide attempt had been an eye-opener, but this was¡­what? Accurate scrying over an arbitrary distance?


    Unprecedented magical talent didn¡¯t compensate for a tiny child¡¯s limited faculties of both understanding and explanation, of course. But what she could convey was enough to have Ellaenie quite intrigued.


    She sat and listened for a while as Saoirse continued to play out what the three men were up to, then kissed her daughter on the head, stood up, thanked Lisze, and went to find her husband.


    Sayf was holding court, in the dark and smoke-filled dome chamber where supplicants came from all over the Nested Worlds to see him and perform for him. Right now, he was watching a dance troupe while reclining among his pillows, sipping wine and conversing with a visitor. Ellaenie smiled and made small talk to welcome the other guests as she weaved among the hanging fabrics, pillows and lounges, and waited patiently. He knew she was there, he knew she wanted to speak with him, but it wasn¡¯t immediately important. He¡¯d excuse himself as soon as politely possible.


    Sure enough, after perhaps five minutes (during which time Ellaenie succumbed to temptation and ate two pastries chased down by a small wine of her own, and traded small-talk with a couple of refugees from Cantre) Sayf extracted himself from his hospitality obligations, and they sat down together in a more private corner of the chamber, their solitude secured as much by his power as by the heavy curtains and dividers around this little enclave.


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.


    ¡°Something the matter?¡±


    ¡°Something¡­no, I don¡¯t think there¡¯s anything the matter as such. But Saoirse¡¯s powers are definitely growing.¡±


    He smiled, and poured wine for them both. ¡°I know. She¡¯s incredible.¡±


    ¡°What is she?¡± Ellaenie asked, taking the cup.


    ¡°A crownchild, and the daughter of a witch even more talented and powerful than her namesake,¡± Sayf replied.


    ¡°I¡¯m really not¡ª¡±


    ¡°Darling, when have I ever exaggerated to you?¡±


    Ellaenie paused, and thought of Saoirse Crow-Sight with a pang of grief and loss that eight years had not so much dulled as rendered less frequent. ¡°I don¡¯t¡­much like the idea of being more talented and powerful than her,¡± she said.


    ¡°Well you are. Come on, do you think old Saoirse would have taken anything less for her last and most beloved student? Trust me, if you live as long as she did, you¡¯ll surpass her by an earthmote¡¯s breadth, and she would want you to. And of course, you also have the Word¡­¡± He shrugged and sipped. ¡°How is it going with that, by the way? I can feel when you¡¯re practicing, but¡ª¡±


    Ellaenie shrugged, concentrated, and held a hand out in thin air. Tiny particles of grit began to form, assembling themselves into a fine dust cloud around her fingers which grew, shrunk, condensed, formed, compressed, annealed, solidified¡­


    She exhaled, and poured her wine from the glass in her right hand into the new goblet in her left hand. Sayf arched an eyebrow at it. ¡°¡­That¡¯s¡­diamond.¡±


    ¡°The carbon from the air.¡±


    He laughed, delighted, and took it from her to study it. ¡°You¡¯re amazing, you know that?¡±


    ¡°Oh, it¡¯s¡­pretty crude. I mean look, it¡¯s all lumpen and wonky. I still can¡¯t quite visualize the shape clearly enough in my head.¡±


    Sayf snorted. ¡°She just created a¡ª¡± he paused to weigh the goblet thoughtfully ¡°¡ªseven hundred and fifty carat diamond from thin air in the shape of a wine goblet, and she still nitpicks herself.¡±


    Put that way, Ellaenie saw the humor in her own ridiculous perfectionism, and giggled. ¡°Okay¡­I suppose it¡¯s a little impressive,¡± she admitted. ¡°Though¡­using the Word feels like cheating.¡±


    ¡°The Words themselves are¡­a mystery even we Four still don¡¯t understand, but they require will and skill to use properly, Ellie. What you just did is something incredible for one so young.¡± He returned the goblet to her, and settled back. ¡°Pickle got a lot of power from me, all my children do. But I¡¯m fundamentally just a human who¡¯s lived a long time and who knows a lot. I think the bigger jolt of her talent comes from you, in fact.¡±


    ¡°Truly?¡±


    ¡°Truly. What that power will become as she grows up¡­¡± Sayf frowned thoughtfully at nothing for a second. ¡°I don¡¯t want to say.¡±


    ¡°Why not?¡±


    ¡°Because¡­because I¡¯m worried that what I hope for is as fragile as a soap bubble, and if I speak too loudly about it, if I look too hard into the possible futures in search of it, I¡¯ll destroy it.¡± He gave her a shockingly vulnerable smile. ¡°I¡¯m speaking in riddles, I know.¡±


    ¡°Yes, but I like to think I know you well enough to pick some of them apart,¡± Ellaenie said. ¡°What if I say it?¡±


    He sat back, and gestured for her to go ahead. Ellaenie nodded, drained her wine, and set the diamond goblet aside.


    ¡°You said it yourself. You¡¯re just a human who¡¯s lived a long time and knows a lot. You were¡­long, long back in the World Before, you weren¡¯t even called Sayf, were you? You had a different name.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve had millions of names, over the long years.¡± He chuckled, ¡°Or perhaps, I¡¯ve been called many things. Names are tricky, and they have great power.¡±


    ¡°All the more reason to know! Surely one was first, so what was it?¡±


    ¡°¡­Tricky. Like asking which tributary is the beginning of the river.¡­¡±


    ¡°But there was still a man, once upon a time, who became Sayf. What if¡­¡± she paused, then decided to stop thinking aloud and just ask. ¡°Is she going to be a Crown?¡±


    He swirled his cup. ¡°It¡¯s possible.¡±


    ¡°Possible?¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t say yes or no. The thing is, beloved¡­things like Crowns are powerful enough that we resonate through time in strange ways. Our presence weighs on the tapestry of causality, stretching both across its weft and along its warp. We¡¯re so potent, in fact, that even the possible futures where she ascends to become one of us have a profound influence.¡±


    ¡°How can something that never actually comes to pass have a real influence on what does come to pass?¡±


    ¡°Oh, it happens all the time!¡± Sayf exclaimed. ¡°It¡¯s the root of sentience! ¡®I don¡¯t want to have a hangover, so I¡¯d better stop drinking now.¡¯ Thus, the hangover never comes to pass, but its potential influenced the present.¡±


    Ellaenie frowned. ¡°That seems like a trivial example."


    Sayf chuckled. ¡°It is, in one sense, because you¡¯re used to it. But from a different point of view, a purely materialistic one, It¡¯s a miracle! Think about it! A sack of water, salt and strange molecules somehow has the capacity to defy causality! The effect not only precedes the cause, but it can in fact prevent the cause from ever happening!¡± He laughed and shook his head while Ellaenie grinned at his sudden animation. Sayf was at his most charming, and she loved him most, when he was waving his hands and eagerly expounding on some point of philosophy like this.


    And he knew it of course, and never failed to throw in a well-timed touch of flirtation. ¡°You, my love, achieve even greater miracles as a matter of course. But don¡¯t discount that one. Can you imagine a river pebble doing such a thing?¡±


    ¡°Well, no, obviously.¡±


    ¡°Right. But you of all people, with your Word and powers of transmutation, know that this¡ª¡± he patted the flesh of his belly ¡°¡ªis not so removed as all that from the material of a river pebble. The ability to see possible futures and act on it, though? That¡¯s life. And some futures? They inspire the efforts of thousands, millions, billions of people to see them brought about, or to avoid them.¡±


    ¡°¡­And the ascension of a new Crown would be a very important future indeed,¡± Ellaenie mused.


    ¡°Mhm. But now you start to know why I¡¯m scared to get my hopes up and talk about it too openly or too eagerly. Important it might be, but it¡¯s still just one small range of unrealized possibility among a¡­well, not an infinity, technically, but only because I¡¯m still a pedantic mathematician deep in my soul.¡±


    ¡°I happen to like your pedantic mathematician side,¡± Ellaenie told him, and he smiled. ¡°But you do want it to happen.¡±


    ¡°Beloved¡­Ellie¡­¡± he rose from his lounge, knelt before her and took her hands to squeeze them between his. ¡°It¡¯s why we built this whole universe from the ashes of the old. If our daughter is¡­.the One-To-Be¡­then it vindicates the very existence of the Nested Worlds and achieves our grand design far, far earlier than we ever dreamed possible.¡±


    Ellaenie squeezed his hands back. ¡°And¡­and if she isn¡¯t?¡±


    ¡°Then she¡¯s still my daughter, and I love her like every daughter deserves to be loved.¡±


    A knot of unthought, unrealized tension that Ellaenie hadn¡¯t even known was inside her relaxed and unraveled. She sighed, feeling warm and grateful and loving him just as much as ever, and leaned forward to kiss him.


    He smiled into her lips, drew her close, and held her for a time. After the moment, which might have been seconds or half an hour, he murmured in her ear. ¡°Why not set your work aside for the day and come hold court with me. I don¡¯t get to show you off enough.¡±


    She laughed, nodded, and let him lead her by the hand out into the wider space where guests were waiting to entertain them with everything from their craftsmanship to their poetry, their dance, their baking, their wine and their song, their art and all the endless manner of beautiful things that human ingenuity could create.


    And for a time, she set aside her troubles and forgot them entirely.


    <hr>


    <blockquote>


    To make potatos in the Chamberfield style ¡ª rub inside of a casserole dish with garlic and butter. Take potatos and scrub them of their hide, then slice them to the thickness of a coin and layer them in the dish with pepper, nutmeg, and small squares of fatty bacon. Once the dish is well filled, pour in good cream, decorate the top with thin slices of garlic, and bake for an hour and a half. It should emerge with a good brown crust, but you can improve a weak crust with the use of a salamander. ¡ªMrs. Jeniver Rill, The New Kitchen


    </blockquote>


    <h2>Getting off the tram</h2>


    Porterlands, Auldenheigh, Enerlend 09.06.03.12.08


    A team of men were putting up new wanted posters opposite the Washer¡¯s Lane tram stop near Well Street and Hatpin safehouse, right where travelers would see them as they disembarked.


    Adrey almost sighed in displeasure. Once, the boards near tram stops had been fully of the city¡¯s lively commerce, advertising theatrical productions, hair salons, tonics, products, services and opportunities. They had been colorful, lively, and spoken of a life of ease and freedom that none of the people who¡¯d enjoyed it had properly appreciated.


    Now, the boards were covered in official notices in the same uniform black-on-white print. Reminders about curfew, and the limitations on how large public gatherings could be. Warnings to beware of sedition and treason, and various other documents all headed in block capitals with the words ¡°BY ORDER OF THE DUKESMOOT.¡±


    She was used to generic notices offering a hefty reward for information about spies, but this was something different.


    <blockquote>


    BY ORDER OF THE DUKESMOOT


    </blockquote>


    A reward of ONE HUNDRED SILVER GUILDMARKS is offered for information leading to the arrest of ADREY MOSSJOY, formerly the Countess of Whitcairn.


    For the crimes of ESPIONAGE, TREASON AND MURDER, and abetting of the same.


    Believed to be at large in the city. If sighted, DO NOT APPROACH as she is known to be armed and skilled in the use of arms. Report any possible sightings to INSPECTOR-LIEUTENANT GAFFELD at Auldwall Row Constabulary Office.


    A whole hundred? Adrey almost gave a low whistle of appreciation at being worth so much, though the feeling warred with a degree of indignation. Espionage? Sure. Murder? Technically, she supposed. Those two men who¡¯d tried to intercept her at the Hunting Hounds would count, though to her thinking it was a clear case of self-defence. But treason?


    Well, of course the puppet Duke would call it treason to remain loyal to the legitimate duchess.


    But what amused her most was the printed likeness of her face. Somebody had clearly made the print plate by copying one of her old portraits, and the one they¡¯d chosen had always been something of a joke. The artist had fallen out of favor rather quickly for his tendency to ¡°improve¡± his models¡¯ features to the point of being almost unrecognizable. In Adrey¡¯s case, he¡¯d clearly felt that her high-cheeked and straight-jawed face was unfashionably sharp for a woman of such noble rank (who of course ought not possibly be anything other than a delicate and inoffensive creature) and so had, uh, softened her somewhat. And made her face more symmetrical than it truly was.


    The result was assuredly beautiful, a perfect pretty ¡®golden ratio¡¯ face ideal for flattering the vanity of insecure noblewomen. But as the material for a wanted poster, it was hopeless: it lacked any of the distinctive, defining features that could have actually identified her.


    It was deeply reassuring, though even reassurance sounded a note of warning in her head. Never underestimate the enemy. Bad wanted posters might only be bad wanted posters, or they might be a ploy to lull her into false comfort.


    The notice next to the wanted posters was certainly trouble no matter what, though. She sighed at it, glanced up at the Roil to check the time, then turned down Well Street and went home.


    She arrived and shrugged off her coat to the sounds of laughter from the kitchen, and someone called out ¡°Is that you, Addie?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s me!¡± she agreed, poking her head around the door while commencing the involved process of unpinning and removing her hat. Sadie Peason beamed at her and gave a little wave: she was in the middle of scrubbing some potatos clean in anticipation of dinner. It was a funny thing¡ªtechnically, all of Miss Brooknetter¡¯s lodgers were wealthy middle-class women or petty gentry, all certainly sufficiently well-to-do to hire servants and cooks, but the curfew had put paid to that: there was nowhere in the house for hired help to sleep overnight, and so the lodgers had been compelled to take up their own cooking.


    It was actually becoming something of a highlight of living there. It felt¡­independent, somehow. but today¡¯s meal seemed smallish.


    ¡°Are w-we only cooking for fuh-four today?¡± Adrey asked, slipping easily into the shy, stammering Adelia Rubb persona as she hung up the hat and unpinned her shawl.


    ¡°Larnie¡¯s down with one of her migraines, and Jemma sent word that she¡¯s staying at her employers¡¯ house tonight,¡± Sadie explained. ¡°Come on, scrub up and pitch in. You¡¯re home early!¡±


    ¡°Didn¡¯t you he-hear?¡±


    ¡°Hear what, love?¡± Mellie asked. She was in the middle of preparing a sauce, if Adrey was any judge. It smelled incredible, but Mellie was the one out of all of them with the most passion and talent for cooking.


    ¡°The-they¡¯re tightening the c-curfew again¡­¡± Adelia explained. She hung the shawl and went to wash her hands, knowing she¡¯d be called on to slice the potatos. It wasn¡¯t that all her training with Skinner and the others had directly translated into skill at wielding a kitchen knife, but¡­well. She was still comfortable with a blade in a way that the others weren¡¯t.


    ¡°Again?¡± Sadie plunked her half-scrubbed potato down in the bowl and gave her an exasperated look. ¡°In Talvi¡¯s name, what for? When is it now?¡±


    ¡°Nightfall ¡®til dawn,¡± Adelia explained with a helpless shrug. ¡°B-but the sign at the tr¡­the tram stop said yyyyou could get a, a two hour p-pass if you can show c-cause.¡±


    ¡°Crowns and Heralds!¡± Sadie grumbled, and took up her scrubbing brush again. ¡°I swear, this city¡¯s becoming a nightmare¡­¡±


    Adrey could only nod meekly. Somewhere outside and above she could hear the drone of an airship¡¯s engines as it circled low over Porterlands, periodically blasting the district with an amplified voice to remind the citizens of the exact same edicts and decrees that were pasted on every vertical surface around them.


    She couldn¡¯t regret the raid on the Circle to rescue Lisze, of course not. But it did seem to have handed the enemy the excuse they needed to tighten their grip.


    ¡°I don¡¯t even know why it¡¯s happening,¡± Mellie said, her usual sunny mood noticeably darkened by the news.


    ¡°I¡¯ll tell you why it¡¯s happening, my girl,¡± Miss Brooknetter interjected, bustling in from the scullery with a bottle of cream. ¡°Ah! Mrs. Rubb. Would you be a dear and slice the spuds thin? We¡¯re having Chamberfield Potatoes.¡±


    ¡°Of c-course, Miss Brooknetter.¡±


    ¡°Why¡¯s it happening?¡± Mellie asked.


    ¡°Keep stirring that sauce, Miss Corroy! It¡¯ll burn!¡± Brooknetter set the cream down on the kitchen table then sat down to Hold Forth, a pastime she greatly enjoyed. ¡®Adelia¡¯ and Sadie traded a secret smile at their landlady¡¯s quirks, but let her carry on. After all, in Adrey¡¯s experience, the old woman was a decent barometer for the mood of the general public.


    Esme Brooknetter didn¡¯t disappoint. She settled at the table, wiggled and adjusted her cushion a couple of times, smoothed her skirts and hair, then lifted her chin in the classic posture that said she had an Opinion and soon any remotely sensible person within earshot would share it. ¡°It¡¯s happening, my dears, because the Dukesmoot isn¡¯t run by the dukes at all, by this point.¡±


    ¡°No?¡± Mellie asked.


    ¡°No, of course not! After all, the unrest started well before Duchess Ellaenie was forced out. Before her late father died, even.¡±


    Adrey nodded, listening closely. Thus far, to her mild surprise, the old girl was right in every particular.


    ¡°Really? There was unrest before?¡±


    ¡°Oh, my dear girl, there was always unrest. There¡¯s always been, pardon my bluntness, envious cretins lurking on the edges of society who blame the good people with wealth and influence for their own lack of both.¡± She shook her head at the obvious folly and ineptitude of the poor working class. ¡°But up until eight years ago, they never got organized you see.¡±


    ¡°And they have now?¡± Sadie asked.


    ¡°Organized and united, yes. But duped, too.¡± Miss Brooknetter sat forward, warming to her subject. ¡°You see¡­I can only guess of course, looking at it from the outside, but I think what happened is the Clear Skies guild got so big and so rich that the people in charge of it¡ªwhoever they are¡ªdecided it didn¡¯t make any sense to them why they should answer to dukes and duchesses. So they recruited a lot of the more astute political activists and malcontents and set them to start whipping up the populace, while they themselves went after the nobility. I think Duchess Ellaenie was onto them and they went after her first, but she managed to escape.¡±


    ¡°So..y-you don¡¯t think shuh¡­she¡¯s a witch?¡± ¡®Adelia¡¯ asked.


    ¡°Oh, of course she¡¯s a witch, girl.¡± Miss Brooknetter sniffed. ¡°She had one of those Craenen thaighns for a friend and mentor, and she was a witch, so of course the duchess is one too! But you know what? If being a witch means getting down on your knees in the dirt and healing people hurt by riot and fire, then I saw we need more witches! And look where she is now! Crownspouse! What more endorsement do you need?¡±


    ¡°I s-suppose¡­¡± ¡®Adelia¡¯ admitted.


    ¡°You suppose? Well, my girl, let me tell you something. Everything changed the night she was forced out. All the Dukesmoot was in Auldenheigh that night, and I think the revolutionaries got to them and gave them an ultimatum. They could either fall in line and do what they were told, or they could die.¡±


    ¡°Goodness!¡± Sadie commented.


    ¡°But where does the Church of the One¡± come in? Mellie asked. She¡¯d taken the sauce off the stove and was listening now, clearly taken by the landlady¡¯s logic.


    ¡°Why, they¡¯re the other half of it, aren¡¯t they? The Dukesmoot to grant the seeming of legitimacy and respectibility, the Church to unite the common folk. But they¡¯re just the surface, my dears. Mark my words, there are conspirators and revolutionaries behind it all. And now they are in charge¡­but because they¡¯ve never been in charge of anything before, they think they have to be in control. Of everything! They don¡¯t understand that you can¡¯t control everything, so every week it¡¯s another decree, another poster, another notice¡­¡±


    She shook her head. ¡°Mark my words, girls. It will get far uglier before it gets better. That¡¯s¡­¡± she shot ¡®Adelia¡¯ a contrite look. ¡°¡­That¡¯s why I worry so, for all of you. This is a vulnerable time, but especially so for women.¡±


    Adrey accepted the contrition with a nod, but inside she was actually quite impressed. Considering she didn¡¯t know half of what was going on, Miss Brooknetter was not far at all from the truth. In fact, she¡ª


    There was a sturdy banging at the door, loud enough to almost drown out the male voice behind it: ¡°Constabulary!¡±


    ¡°¡­Upstairs, girls,¡± Brooknetter ordered, rising from her seat with a scowl while Adrey¡¯s heart lurched in her chest. Was she compromised? Was she¡ª


    ¡°Addey, come on!¡± Sadie took her hand and pulled her toward the stairs, jolting Adrey back into action. Her knives were still hidden about her person, as was her little holdout pistol. And she had an escape route planned out of her bedroom window and up over the rooftops, to the spot where a disguise was stashed among the chimneys over on Heighwater Street.


    The knock at the door sounded again, louder and more demanding. Miss Brooknetter shouted sternly, ¡°I¡¯m coming, I¡¯m coming!¡± before opening the door just as Sadie bustled Adrey around the corner at the top of the stairs. Mellie disappeared into the room she shared with Larnie, and could be heard desperately waking her lover, who mewled in protest at being reawoken to the migraine that had forced her into bed in the first place.


    ¡®Adelia¡¯ and Sadie lurked together against the wall at the top of the stairs, listening to the click of the door opening, and the sound of a man doffing his helmet.


    ¡°Missus Esmerelda Brooknetter?¡±


    ¡°Mistress Esmerelda Brooknetter, yes.¡± The old woman¡¯s indignant gathering herself to her full height was almost audible.


    ¡°Sergeant Davenpatrick, ma¡¯am. Understand you run a lodging house for young ladies.¡±


    Adrey could almost hear Miss Brooknetter stiffening indignantly. ¡°What of it?¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s a warrant out for the arrest o¡¯ one of your lodgers, ma¡¯am.¡±


    Shit. Adrey tensed, mentally trying to guess how large a force they must have sent for her, what her escape route would be, how in all that was good she was going to get out of this mess¡­


    Miss Brooknetter¡¯s tone was icy. ¡°Is there. Produce it, please.¡±


    ¡°Right ¡®ere, ma¡¯am. Warrant of arrest for Mrs. Jemma Gower. Signed by the magistrate this afternoon.¡±


    Adrey blinked. She couldn¡¯t have heard that right¡­could she? Jemma? Quiet, widowed Jemma?


    There was a long pause, and the rustle of paper. It would be just like Miss Brooknetter to read the warrant thoroughly. In the midst of it, Sadie and Adrey stared at each other in mutual astonishment.


    ¡°¡­She¡¯s not ¡®ome,¡± Brooknetter declared shortly, her accent slipping a bit which was a sure sign of fluster.


    ¡°I¡¯ll need to confirm that for meself and search the premises, ma¡¯am. I should warn you, if you or any of your lodgers are found to be harborin¡¯ a fugitive¡ª¡±


    ¡°She is not home, to my knowledge,¡± Miss Brooknetter replied, primly wrenching her more proper diction back into place. ¡°And we have nothing to hide.¡±


    Like fuck we don¡¯t. Adrey gritted her teeth, then pushed passed Sadie and into her bedroom. She had seconds, maybe. Thank goodness all her most incriminating things were stowed in a small trunk atop her wardrobe that no human could ever contort themselves into, but there was still the fact of herself, tall and strong and distinctive.


    Well, her height could be downplayed by sitting. Her well-built physique could be downplayed with a shawl. And her face? No time for anything fancy. Reading glasses would have to do.


    A minute or two later, a constable poked his head into her room. He gave Adrey a quick look up and down, grunted, opened her wardrobe, grunted again, crossed to the window to look out and around, grunted a third time, and left the room.


    A minute or two after that, the squad was gone with a predictable parting shot about the consequences should Jemma Gower show up and the lodgers fail to report it. They left behind a sense of disturbance and insecurity. For several minutes, the house was silent save for the sound of Miss Brooknetter pacing downstairs and muttering to herself.


    Then there was a soft knock. Rather than waiting for an invitation, Sadie slipped in through the door, closed it behind her, and gave ¡®Adelia¡¯ a wary look. One which Adrey knew she was mirroring. The two women watched each other for several long beats, before Sadie crossed the room and sat next to her on the bed.


    ¡°You thought they were here for you,¡± she accused.


    ¡°I j-just¡­I g-get¡­I¡­¡± The Adelia persona¡¯s stammer came in harder than ever, to try and sell stress and anxiety.


    ¡°No, no, Addie. There¡¯s reasonable nerves at the constables poking around, and then there¡¯s rushing into your room and putting on a disguise. You thought they were here for you.¡±


    Adrey took a deep breath, and tried to calculate her way out of this. Was there a future in which she got to stay at this safehouse?


    Maybe.


    She didn¡¯t answer, though that was answer enough in its way. For a stretched moment, the room was all but silent. The clock ticked, and from outside and above came the window-rattling sound of engines and an amplified voice beginning yet another announcement. ¡¯By order of the Dukesmoot¡ª¡¯


    But between Sadie and Addie, there was no sound at all, until Sadie put her hand on Adrey¡¯s arm.


    ¡°I¡¯m not going to turn you in, Addie,¡± she whispered. ¡°You can trust me.¡±


    ¡°Trust you with what?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not¡­¡± Sadie looked around, then out the window, then let out a shaky nervous breath and scooted up on the bed a little more. ¡°Crowns¡¯ sake, Addie, the world¡¯s going crazy out there. Can¡¯t you hear that airship? It¡¯s a nightmare! And I¡¯ve got this horrible feeling Miss Brooknetter doesn¡¯t know the half of it! I can¡¯t keep on like this, under this¡­this weight. I feel like my neck¡¯s already in the lunette and I¡¯m just waiting for the blade to drop!¡±


    Adrey blinked at her, but still said nothing. Give nothing away, she told herself. This could all be a trap.


    Sadie saw her restraint and sighed miserably. ¡°Is this what we¡¯ve come to? Is this what the times have made us Aren¡¯t we friends? Can¡¯t there be any trust between us?¡±


    Adrey let out a heartfelt breath of her own, cleared her throat, and looked her in the eye. ¡°I¡¯d¡­like it if there could be,¡± she said. ¡°But we are friends, Sadie. Whatever that means nowadays.¡±


    She meant it, too. Her gut said that Sadie could be trusted. But her sense and her training both screamed for caution, and she heeded them.


    Sadie smiled and nodded. ¡°Well¡­keep your secrets. I mean it, whoever you really are, whatever it is you¡¯re mixed up in¡­I won¡¯t give you up. I¡¯d like to help, actually.¡±


    Adrey didn¡¯t answer. But she did make eye contact. For whatever that was worth, she tried to convey her thoughts without doing anything so incriminating as actually saying anything. Sadie hesitated, then licked her lips, nodded sharply, and rose.


    ¡°Come on,¡± she said. ¡°Supper won¡¯t cook itself.¡±


    Adrey smiled at that, nodded, and stood. ¡°After you,¡± she said.


    After all¡­this might be her last meal at Hatpin safehouse.


    But she hoped and prayed against all reason that it would not be. That Sadie might be a new ally in the fight.


    After all¡­they needed all the friends they could get.


    <hr>


    <blockquote>


    ¡°It is not sufficient to say ¡®magic holds the worlds together.¡¯ The statement is true, of course, but how exactly? What is the mechanism? What equations and forms can we find to accurately describe the magic that holds the earthmotes in their place, turning about the sun? Magic is not a dismissal of the natural order, but a component of it, and can be explored just as completely as the sciences.¡± ¡ªBetran Calien, speaking at a symposium at Whitcairn University


    </blockquote>


    <h2>Back at the cave entrance</h2>


    The Caves of Haptar Getesh, Prathardesh Earthmote 09.06.03.12.08


    Deng-Nah had to admit, he could see why they had left Amir the navigator behind for their first exploration. The man was clever, learned and skilled at mathematics and the Art alike, but he was also skinny and unpracticed in the physical arts. He came up the rope ladder with many a shake and sway and more than a few cries of alarm as the cords flexed and shifted under his weight. There was no way he could ever have made the unassisted free-climb up the waterfall and cliff.


    His first sight of the caves was amusing to watch. Rarely had Deng-Nah seen a man betray such whole-body emotion. Amir lost control of his jaw, his mouth hung open and his entire body seemed to become partially untied as he gaped at the cave¡¯s wonders. Total, unrestrained and unfiltered awe shone in his eyes.


    ¡°Merciful Heralrds,¡± he muttered at last. ¡°And I thought the Word Vaults were something incredible.¡±


    ¡°How does it glow? Do you know?¡± Nah asked. Amir gave him a startled look, glanced at Mouse, then cleared his throat and collected himself somewhat.


    ¡°Ah, well¡­that is¡­uh¡­a very¡­very good question.¡± He cleared his throat lamely. ¡°Unless there¡¯s a small team of mages buried in the walls somewhere around here shoveling gravy and cheese into their faces as fast as they can and basking their feet in a forge for good measure, I can¡¯t imagine how this much stone could be induced to glow for more than, oh¡­minutes?¡±


    ¡°Jerl said there¡¯s something called a ¡®Calien¡¯s Lodehead¡¯ further down?¡± Mouse added.


    ¡°¡­Jerl said that?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°Our Jerl?¡±


    ¡°No, a completely different Jerl Holten.¡±


    Nah laughed, not merely at Mouse¡¯s deadpan sarcasm but at the way the statement was, if he understood Jerl¡¯s explanation of his powers in this special place, entirely literal. Amir shot him a somewhat unsteady look, then looked around them.


    ¡°Yngmir¡¯s Tree. So Lodeheads are real? Well, that¡­that does explain¡­well, no it doesn¡¯t, in fact it opens an awful number of new questions. Goodness, the entire Observatory could move here and spend the rest of their lives researching it¡­¡±


    Mouse and Deng-Nah shrugged. Neither of them had asked Jerl what, in point of fact, a Calien¡¯s Lodehead was supposed to be. Mouse had got the distinct impression Jerl didn¡¯t have the faintest idea himself.


    ¡°Would you like to see it?¡± Deng-Nah offered.


    Amir¡¯s eyes widened, he nodded, and gestured hurriedly into the back of the cave, having apparently quite forgotten about the beautiful sights and fascinating relics of ancient years all about them. ¡°Lead on!¡±


    They followed the route back, which they¡¯d marked with magestones. Amir gave the various halls, living spaces and other ancestral features a longing glance, but didn¡¯t swerve aside to investigate anything. He complained a little about having to crawl on hard, bare stone through the narrow squeeze into the chamber, but his complaints vanished as he straightened on the far side and gasped.


    ¡°Oh¡­Crowns and Heralds!¡±


    Jerl had sat himself on the table in the middle of the room, and appeared to be meditating. He opened his eyes and grinend at Amir¡¯s reaction. ¡°You feel that, right?¡±


    ¡°Surely you all do, as well?¡± Amir flexed his fingers, and sparks danced between them, crackling bright enough to briefly illuminate the walls. He hissed and sucked his fingers. ¡°Ow!¡±


    ¡°Careful,¡± Jerl chuckled.


    ¡°This is amazing! Jerl, this is¡­this is worth a king¡¯s ransom, to the right people. These things were only theoretical before now!¡±


    ¡°Okay, what exactly is a Lodehead?¡± Mouse asked.


    ¡°It¡¯s¡­.okay. So you know how everything in the world falls away from the sun, yes?¡±


    ¡°Yes¡­?¡±


    ¡°But Earthmotes don¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°Also true.¡±


    ¡°But they¡¯re just made of rock. They should fall away from the sun. But they don¡¯t. And they should eventually slow to a halt thanks to air resistance, but they don¡¯t. And they should sometimes bump into each other, but they don¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°Okay?¡±


    ¡±Betran Calien was a theoretical mage-scholar whose calculations first suggested that the earthmotes are maintained by focal nodes of magical power, wells of arcane energy deep inside their fabric which hold them fast in their orbit, ward them away from each other and generally¡­well, generally explain how the worlds turn. He named them Lodeheads. Of course¡­how do you study something that is by definition deep underground? And which may or may not break and cause the earthmote to crumble and fall if interfered with?¡±


    ¡°Well¡­apparently the ancient escaped slaves found this one.¡± Jerl shrugged. ¡°And my premonition tells me we needed to come here and find it too. I just don¡¯t know why.¡±


    Amir blinked at him. ¡°Well¡­what does one do with an unlimited source of magical energy? Assuming, that is, you do not do the eminently sensible thing and leave it alone¡­¡±


    ¡°You siphon off some of the energy and use it for something,¡± Jerl ventured. ¡°Which is what the old dwellers did with the quartz veins in the caves outside, I bet.¡±


    ¡°Madness. Ignorance.¡± Amir shook his head in wonder. ¡°If they had known what they were really dealing with, they would not have dared, surely?¡±


    Jerl shrugged.


    ¡°They had a Herald,¡± Deng-Nah pointed out. ¡°The Beloved Lady was their protector and guide. Maybe she taught them how to do it safely?¡±


    ¡°I¡­have very little experience of Lady Rheannach,¡± Amir admitted. ¡°But if she is at all like Lord Yngmir, I doubt she would counsel her people to do such a thing. This is¡­this is King E?rrach¡¯s work made manifest. This is the place where his will that the world be thus flows in and becomes reality. I rather doubt his own wife would instruct her people in how to misuse it.¡±


    ¡°Assuming it is a misuse,¡± Deng-Nah pointed out, though he had to agree on that point. It felt¡­Improper, somehow.


    ¡°How could it not be? This is the very power that holds the earthmotes together. Without their stabilizing influence, the very ground we walk on would just become gravel, falling away into the infinite void, forever.¡±


    Jerl had his arms folded and a frown on his face. He drummed the fingers of his right hand on his left bicep, then looked up at Nah. ¡°You said you have your vault on you?¡±


    ¡°Yes?¡±


    Jerl hopped up from his seat on the stalagmite-table and gestured to it. ¡°Pop it down there, would you?¡±


    ¡°Jerl, what¡ª?¡± Amir began, but Mouse grinned suddenly.


    ¡°Of course! We can¡¯t use the lodehead to charge it!¡±


    ¡°Exactly.¡± Jerl grinned back at him, then turned to explain to Nah. *¡°*Without a big jolt of magic, the vaults remain locked. Mind was unlocked by an unwary mage having his very life-force and soul torn out of him. Time was unlocked by the hag elves¡¯ ritual in the Cronewood. Both times, it involved death, unwitting or sacrificial. But the Lodehead¡­¡±


    Nah nodded, and fumbled in his bag for the vault. ¡°So, this is why we are here,¡± he said. ¡°Because we don¡¯t win unless we open this vault and speak the Word it contains.¡±


    ¡°Seems so.¡±


    ¡°It surely cannot be that simple,¡± Amir objected. ¡°We are talking about incredible power here. It could destroy us just as easily as¡­.as blundering into the Queen¡¯s engines when they are at full throttle!¡±


    ¡°Much, much more easily than that,¡± Jerl said.


    Amir balked. ¡°Ah¡­well. Yes!¡±


    ¡°What do you advise instead?¡±


    ¡°I¡­suppose¡­we could always use the existing siphon? Tap the magic that lights the cave? But Jerl, this is a matter I know nothing of, I will need weeks to study and prepare, at minimum.¡±


    ¡°May I, then, suggest a simple experiment?¡± Deng-Nah ventured.


    ¡°What do you have in mind?¡± Amir asked him.


    ¡°Before we interfere with the source of fathomless magic power, let us first determine whether or not we in fact need to¡­¡± Deng-Nah approached the table, holding the vault in his hand. ¡°Why not simply place the vault on here and see what happens?¡±


    ¡°Because that might be all that needs to happen. We might all be destroyed.¡±


    ¡°And if it weren¡¯t for the Word, I¡¯d heed that warning mate, I promise you,¡± Jerl smiled at him. ¡°But we won¡¯t. It¡¯s safe.¡±


    ¡°Indeed?¡± Amir glanced at him and received a confident, calm nod. ¡°Premonition? Well¡­then you may as well, I suppose.¡±


    Deng-Nah nodded. He turned the box over a few times, considering the polished wood and near-seamless construction. Then he tossed it lightly onto the table.


    The result was instantaneous, and far more than he had even guessed at. The vault didn¡¯t even land on the stone, but stopped in mid-air, tumbling and spinning as it rose until it was at the exact geometric center of the cavern. They all flinched away as brilliant blue-green light seeped out of the very walls to crawl up the stalagmite and down the stalactite above it, arcing and pouring into it like lightning and water blended into something that was not quite either, and not quite both. Runes lit and blazed across its surface, curious runes he had no idea how to read¡­


    But more than that, from each rune a beam of light shot out to play across the walls. Where they swept across the eyes there were blinding, painful, dazzling enough to leave purple smudges. But where they touched the stone¡­


    The four of them turned and looked about them, each one with his mouth open, and stared at the familiar shapes. Around them, a complete and accurate armillary map of the Nested Worlds revolved slowly, far grander and more intricate even than Amir¡¯s descriptions of the Grand Orrery of the Navigators. But that wasn¡¯t the bit that stunned them all into silence.


    Here and there across the earthmotes, picked out in red so that they could not be mistaken, a set of locations were marked by clear and vivid points of light.


    And one of them was very, very close nearby.

 Chapter 20: Sacrifice

    <blockquote>


    As is well known, free matter exhibits acceleration away from the centre of the Nested Worlds¡ªin other words, away from the Sun¡ªof approximately sixteen feet per second per second. ¡°Free¡± matter being any matter which is not resting on the surface of, or incorporated into, the substance of an earthmote. The earthmotes themselves cannot therefore consist only of ordinary stone and ores, else they too would fall away from the sun and into the void. But keeping them in their steady orbit would require a variable (but very large) sequestering of arcanokinetic power, as described in the equation below (fig.1): note that E in this case is Elsewell¡¯s Constant. It is my conjecture that any valid solution to this equation will solve to a stable configuration which we may express as a self-stabilizing Definite Arcanum in the first simple form of the supernal clavis, the sequestered energies of which asymptotically approach infinity (fig.2). I call this configuration a ¡°Lodehead,¡± and posit that the earthmotes are formed around these arcane structures. ¡ªExcerpt from Betran Calien¡¯s Principles of the Art: an Advanced Student¡¯s Guide to the Mysteries of Creation


    </blockquote>


    <h2>The Lodehead</h2>


    The Caves of Haptar Getesh, Prathardesh Earthmote 09.06.03.12.08


    For several seconds, the only sound in the Lodehead cavern was the faint hum and crackle of magic, but even that faded as the energies stabilized. Silence fell, only to eventually be broken by Jerl¡¯s low whistle of approval.


    ¡°Okay¡­not what I was expecting, but I¡¯ll take it.¡±


    Amir moved to the wall and brushed his fingers over the stone, watching the way the projected map flowed and played across the back of his hand. ¡°Is this what I think it is?¡±


    ¡°Well, I think it¡¯s a map to the location of every Word Vault in creation,¡± Jerl said.


    ¡°I think you may be right¡­.hmm.¡± Amir orbited the room, tapping each marker as he passed it. He paused next to one. ¡°¡­this must be Time. or Mind.¡±


    ¡°How can you tell?¡± Mouse asked.


    Amir tapped the collection of small, angular runes next to it. ¡°Because these two columns are unchanging, but this one is a blur,¡± he said. Sure enough, the runes in the third column were flickering and changing faster than the eye could keep up. ¡°Angle roilwise, Angle polar, distance from zero. The exact same system Navigators use to this day because, well, it is the only system that works. No change in the first two but rapid movement in the third would be consistent with an object dropped over the edge.¡±


    He stepped back and considered the entire map with a frown, then produced a small blue-bound book from his pocket and flipped through it, taking in the dense charts and tables on it at a glance. He looked up, looked around, whispered to himself, traced his fingers up and down the tables a few more times, then nodded and closed the book. ¡°¡­Perfectly up-to-date,¡± he added. ¡°Most impressive. That¡¯s Time. And that one over there is Mind.¡±


    ¡°Most impressive?¡± Deng-Nah commented, drily. Once again, he was speaking in his own tongue but thanks to Mouse they understood him perfectly. ¡°This is¡­I do not believe recently escaped human slaves could have worked magic like this. I doubt whether any living mage today could do it.¡±


    ¡°Oh¡­I think the Navigators could do it.¡± Amir disagreed, looking about them. ¡°With the power of a Lodehead to draw on, we could do it, maybe. But we already have made something similar, albeit far cruder. You¡¯re right though, there is no possibility this was the work of untutored refugees. Only the Crowns and Heralds would have known how to create something such as this, back in those days.¡±


    ¡°Rheannach?¡± Jerl suggested again.


    ¡°Once again¡­I doubt whether she would meddle with a Lodehead.¡±


    ¡°Who among them would?¡± Mouse asked. There was a note of dark suspicion in his voice. ¡°Is it possible¡­these people had help from more than just Rheannach?¡±


    ¡°They did know about the Forsaken,¡± Amir mused, giving his goatee a thoughtful twist between thumb and forefinger. ¡°As I recall, it was a book of rubbings and sketches from these very caves that first taught us of their existence.¡±


    ¡°But Rheannach was their patron and protector,¡± Jerl pointed out. ¡°How could they have help from the Forsaken without her knowing about it?¡±


    There was a long silence.


    Finally, Amir shrugged and shook his head. ¡°It all happened thousands of years ago,¡± he said. ¡°Speculation gets us nowhere.¡±


    Deng-Nah nodded. ¡°Agreed. Let us stick to what we know¡­¡± He ambled over to the wall, then tapped one of the red runes. ¡°This is nearby, yes?¡±


    ¡°Vathcanarthen. The ¡®City of Choirs.¡¯¡±


    ¡°Tell me more.¡±


    ¡°It was the capitol city of the Ordfey. The seat of Ekve¡¯s royal throne, the site of the imperial palace. Where Vathelan was the seat of the arts and Vathwychen was the center of military power and the study of magic, Vathcanarthen was a giant monument to Fey superiority. It had the largest slave market ever built, and I¡¯ve heard it said that in the Grand Arena, what was once sand is now a solid deposit of a unique kind of stone, cemented by the blood of thousands.¡±


    ¡°It still stands?¡±


    Amir nodded. ¡°After humanity rose up and broke our chains, different fates befell the three great cities. Vathelan was conquered, torn down stone by stone and rebuilt as Auldenheigh. Vathwychen is gone. In fact, we didn¡¯t even know where it was until forty years ago when the patterns of ancient earthworks were spotted from an airship. But Vathcanarthen was simply abandoned and left for the jungle to swallow.¡± He gestured vaguely back toward the cave entrance. ¡°There have been expeditions since then, of course. Archaeologists¡­or treasure hunters and grave robbers. The difference is largely a matter of reputation. Common wisdom has it that all Vathcanarthen¡¯s riches were plundered long ago, and what little remains is of interest only to academics.¡±


    ¡°Apparently, the treasure hunters overlooked something,¡± Jerl commented, considering the gleaming red marker on the wall.


    ¡°Well¡­it seems it is safe there,¡± Deng-Nah pointed out. ¡°If it has gone undisturbed for so long, I doubt anyone will stumble across it. In the meantime, we have this Word¡ª¡± he indicated his family¡¯s heirloom, still tumbling lazily in the middle of its magical field, ¡°¡ªand though it is now charged, we have no clue as to which Word is inside.¡±


    ¡°Well, we know how to get that information,¡± Jerl said.


    ¡°I for one am not, hm, thrilled by the idea of seeking out an Eclipse and hearing what the Shades have to say,¡± Deng-Nah retorted.


    ¡°Me either, but if there¡¯s a better method then I don¡¯t know it.¡±


    Silence again, during which time Amir finished his tour of the chamber, having recorded the location of every vault in his notebook. Finally Deng-Nah sighed, reached out toward the word vault, then paused to glance at him. ¡°¡­Safe?¡±


    ¡°It should be.¡±


    Deng-Nah¡¯s expression declared his sarcastic delight with this reassuring statement, but he reached into the glowing field and took the box. It came away easily, and rested comfortably in his hand, still covered in glowing runes, but the map on the walls around them faded away to nothing.


    ¡°I am¡­troubled,¡± he confessed as he weighed it in his hand. ¡°I will do what I must for my people, my family, and my Emperor. But¡­the thought of having such a power worries me greatly.¡±


    ¡°If not you, who else?¡± Mouse asked. ¡°Who would you trust with it?¡±


    ¡°¡­I can think of some. But none of them are here. And my trust in them is not absolute. There is a chance it might be misplaced.¡±


    They nodded. There was nothing comforting to be said in the face of such a thought. Instead, Jerl looked around the chamber. ¡°I suppose we¡¯ll be back here next time we have a vault to charge,¡± he said. ¡°But I think it¡¯s time we figure out what your Vault holds, Deng-Nah.¡±


    The Yunei nobleman sighed heavily, nodded once, and returned the vault to his bag. He looked far from certain or confident. Which in itself was a good qualification, to Jerl¡¯s way of thinking. He¡¯d far rather give such power to somebody who was duly reluctant and wary of it.


    Time tickled him slightly as he left the chamber, and he furrowed his brow in thought, trying to make sense of a new conviction that was settling on him. A new feeling of¡­of urgency. Of things moving faster all of a sudden. As if this had been the last relatively peaceful moment for a while.


    The Word yielded no further insight beyond that, but he trusted it.


    ¡°Where to, captain?¡± Amir asked.


    ¡°To the nearest Eclipse,¡± Jerl said, heavily. ¡°It¡¯s time to hear what the Shades have to say.¡±


    <hr>


    <blockquote>


    Protest over new prison plans The Constabulary were called upon today to disperse a protest at the planned site of the new penitentiary, which is set to begin construction later this week. The prison is set to be built on the salty marshes sinister of the city limits, downriver along the trailing bank of the Heigh, a location criticized by wildlife lovers, naturalists and budget-watchers alike, who claim that draining the marsh to lay the prison¡¯s foundations will decimate local populations of birds, fish and other interesting wildlife, as well as being prohibitively expensive. The Department of Criminal Justice have dismissed the protest as a ¡°fringe¡± movement, and stated that construction of the prison will go ahead as planned. If all proceeds according to schedule, His Grace¡¯s Prison Brackismarsh will be ready to start receiving new prisoners in the year 09-06-02. The constabulary permitted the protest to go ahead, but were seen to arrest a small group of troublemakers who insisted that Brackishmarsh is being built for the incarceration of political prisoners and to silence dissenting voices. The DCJ dismissed this accusation as ¡°ludicrous¡± and refused to comment further. ¡ªArticle in the Auldenheigh Courier, year 09.05.19


    </blockquote>


    <h2>Anvil Safehouse</h2>


    Auldenheigh, Enerlend, Garanhir Earthmote 09.06.03.12.10


    ¡°¡­Yeah, alright.¡±


    Adrey blinked, quite wrong-footed. She¡¯d been expecting Skinner to say something like ¡®absolutely not¡¯ or ¡®we can¡¯t take the risk¡¯ or something similar. She¡¯d been working herself up for two days to argue with him and plead Sadie¡¯s case, but in the end¡­


    He looked up at her from poring over his maps, and grinned his signature dental tragedy. ¡°She¡¯ll need ¡®ta be properly vetted an¡¯ investigated, o¡¯ course.¡±


    ¡°Of course.¡±


    He chuckled. ¡°Don¡¯ look so shocked, Countess. If¡¯n I trust you with th¡¯ tricky social nobbin¡¯ missions, it¡¯s ¡®cuz I trust ¡®yer instincts. If you think this lass is worth bringin¡¯ in, I¡¯ll bring ¡®er in. We need to recruit anyway.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a risk.¡±


    ¡°Aye, an¡¯ if ¡®yer wrong, folks¡¯ll die. So be sure you¡¯re right. But if you think you are, I¡¯ll trust ¡®yer.¡±


    Adrey thought hard for a second, about Sadie. ¡°And if I¡¯m wrong?¡±


    ¡°Well, I¡¯ll be bloody dead, won¡¯t I? Or Encircled. so I¡¯ll ¡®ave ¡®ta leave the recrimination an¡¯ harsh words ¡®ta you. Though, like as not you¡¯d be dead too.¡± He shrugged, and skewered her with a steady stare. ¡°So. Are you certain?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not.¡±


    ¡°Good. You¡¯d be a bloody fool if you were. But, uncertainty cuts both ways. ¡®Yer not certain she¡¯s a friend, but ¡®yer not certain she¡¯s a foe, neither. We can work wi¡¯ that. But be ready to abandon ¡®yer safehouse at a moment¡¯s notice, hear?¡±


    ¡°I already am.¡±


    Skinner nodded, and flipped a page in his notebook. ¡°Now¡­¡¯Bout the Peltons. I thought I sent ¡®yer to that shindig to see who we might ¡®ave on our side, not ¡®ta cozy up wi¡¯ the enemy.¡±


    ¡°The answer to the first question turned out to be ¡®precious few,¡¯¡± Adrey explained. ¡°Most of the gentry really don¡¯t understand the threat. They¡¯re too out of touch and don¡¯t realize the noose that¡¯s hanging the working class will tighten around their own necks in due course. Right now, the prevailing attitude seems to be that a bit of law and order is a good thing.¡±


    Skinner made a disgusted noise, but sighed. ¡°So instead¡­¡¯ere you are, invited ¡®ta tea with two o¡¯ the free collaborators. That¡¯s risky as fuck.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not here to be safe, Skinner.¡±


    ¡°Aye, none of us are!¡± he laughed. ¡°But lemme be th¡¯ voice o¡¯ caution here. ¡®Fer all you know, Mrs. Pelton saw right through the Miss Bannant disguise an¡¯ you¡¯re walkin¡¯ into the slaughterhouse like a good little lamb.¡±


    ¡°Could be.¡± Adrey shrugged. ¡°Or it could be I¡¯m about to get my foot in the door and become a source of real intelligence.¡±


    ¡°Assumin¡¯ the Peltons know owt.¡±


    ¡°Skinner, we¡¯re not going to win this thing without risking my life, and part of the risk is that the thing I¡¯m risking it for might turn out to be nothing. It¡¯s that simple. Unless you have actionable evidence that this is a trap, I think I have to do this.¡±


    He made a grumbling noise, but nodded. ¡°Take no steps wi¡¯out an escape plan,¡± he said. ¡°An¡¯ keep ¡®yer bloody ¡®atpins sharp an¡¯ that spring-loaded gizmo up your sleeve well oiled. I want th¡¯ worst case ¡®ere ¡®ta be that you ¡®ave to stab the Peltons an¡¯ run. If you wind up bitin¡¯ the cyanide pill, I swear by Maicoh an¡¯ Maingan I¡¯ll be very cross wi¡¯ you.¡±


    ¡°Noted.¡± Adrey gave him a dry, complex smile.


    ¡°In the meantime, we need to talk ¡®bout your position at ¡®Atpin safehous. Now you¡¯ve got a fellow tenant who guesses what ¡®yer in with, an¡¯ the constables sniffin¡¯ around¡­¡±


    Adrey scowled. ¡°You think they got the wrong woman?¡±


    ¡°Nah. if they¡¯d been in any doubt as to who they was after, the whole lot¡¯a you would be in Brackishmarsh already. They knew who they wanted.¡±


    ¡°Do we know who Jemma Gower really was?¡±


    ¡°Not yet. Fairly sure she¡¯s not one of ours, but you know how it is wi¡¯ compartmentalization. I¡¯ll keep diggin¡¯, if I can spare the time an¡¯ men.¡± Skinner shook his head, then came back to the subject at hand. ¡°Anyway. You got three choices wi¡¯ ¡®Atpin. You stay put an¡¯ take a chance on Sadie¡¯s loyalty, you come up wi¡¯ a plausible reason to leave, or you rabbit.¡±


    ¡°What do you advise?¡±


    Skinner remained silent for some seconds, aside from the raspy scratch of his fingernails through stubble as he scratched thoughtfully at his jaw. Finally, he looked Adrey in the eye. ¡°¡­It comes down ¡®ta ¡®ow much you trust Sadie,¡± he said.


    ¡°I have no particular reason to, on a rational level¡± Adrey admitted. ¡°But¡­my gut wants to trust her.¡±


    ¡°Hrrm.¡± Skinner scratched his jaw again, then nodded. ¡°If it were me, I¡¯d pull out gracefully. You¡¯ve got the cover already sorted: you¡¯ve been workin¡¯ for the Gladreaves long enough an¡¯ Mister Rubb¡¯s sent back enough money you can get a place o¡¯ ¡®yer own.¡±


    ¡°On the other hand, an address suitable of Miss Samandra Bannant would be¡­pricey.¡±


    ¡°True.¡±


    Adrey nodded, and turned away from the desk to pace the room in thought. Skinner let her think in silence and busied himself with his papers and writing.


    The fact was, she knew what she wanted to do. She also knew it was her duty to try and talk herself out of her first impulse, in case it turned out to be the stupid one. And there were good reasons to talk her out of this decision. But¡­but none of them were quite enough to overcome a conviction she couldn¡¯t entirely name or articulate.


    Adrey groaned and massaged her forehead. If there was one thing Skinner and Bothroyd and the others had drilled into her time and again from the very beginning, it was that spycraft was no place for impulsive, illogical action. Skinner was almost certainly right, the rational thing to do would be to gracefully leave Miss Brooknetter¡¯s boarding house and set up elsewhere under a different identity.


    And yet¡­


    ¡°I want to stay,¡± she said aloud.


    Skinner looked up from his reading. ¡°Reason?¡±


    ¡°Every move is dangerous. We have proof that the constabulary at least don¡¯t suspect Countess Adrey Mossjoy is at Brooknetter¡¯s boarding house, or as you said I¡¯d already be waiting for the Circle in Brackishmarsh Prison. But if I move on and set up under a different name elsewhere, that¡¯s a chance for somebody to notice the discrepancy, for me to make a mistake¡­or if Brooknetter is being watched, then one of her tenants leaving so soon after this incident might ring a bell no matter how careful I am. Meanwhile, I do think Sadie is in earnest, and she has figured out I¡¯m into something, so I suspect the smart move is to keep her close, where I can watch and guide her.¡±


    Skinner considered this for a few moments, then nodded. ¡°Arright. But whatever your escape plan is, I want you to keep it on a hair trigger from now on. You need to be ready to leave immediately at the first sniff somethin¡¯s gone wrong. Clear?¡±


    ¡°Crystal.¡±


    ¡°Outstanding.¡± He gave her a tight nod with something that was almost but not quite a smile attached to it. The signature Skinner look of approval. ¡°You¡¯d better get on ¡®ome, then, if you wanna¡­fuck me, you ¡®ear that?¡±


    They¡¯d both paused to listen at the same time. There was a rumbling in the air, the deep-throated voice of airship engines. As one they traded a glance then moved to the window, twitched aside the curtains, and peeked out.


    They got their explanation immediately. Not one, but three of the largest airships Adrey had ever seen were rumbling in low over Cheapside, each one vast enough to carry lesser ships amidst docking gantries in their bellies. As indeed they did, as well as trailing an escort of smaller craft in their wake. The one in the middle was a true behemoth, pushed by numerous engine outriggers and bristling with weaponry. From her nose jutted the broad snout of a siege gun, and Adrey could see men in Clear Skies livery lined up down either gunwale, their shakos tall and their rifles held at port arms.


    ¡°That¡¯s the Ring of Eternity,¡± Skinner murmured. ¡°And that¡¯s her little sister on the left, the Unbreakable. But what in the Red Lady¡¯s name is that third one?¡±


    Adrey took a closer look at it. The ship was built much the same as the other two, but now she looked close she saw its livery was different. Instead of the sky blue and cloud white of the Clear Skies guild and the Oneists, it was black, edged in indigo. If there was a name on the prow, Adrey was at the wrong angle to read it, but the figurehead caught her eye. A single black wing, raked down and turned backwards so that its remiges led the way.


    Something about it made her shiver.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± she said. ¡°But I don¡¯t like the look of her one bit.¡±


    ¡°¡­No.¡± Skinner scowled. ¡°¡­.See there, behind ¡®em? That¡¯s the Make Your Own Fortune, I¡¯m sure of it.¡±


    Adrey stared up at the smaller ship in the midle of the escort flotilla. ¡°Civorage.¡±


    Skinner¡¯s expression was hard and tense. ¡°Aye. If ¡®is ship¡¯s ¡®ere, then ¡®e¡¯s come back to Auldenheigh.¡± He twitched the curtain closed. ¡°Go ¡®ome. Wait ¡®fer orders.¡±


    ¡°If the Peltons contact me?¡±


    ¡°Then carry on as planned, but keep me informed.¡±


    ¡°Will do.¡±


    He nodded, looking grim. Something had just changed, they could both feel it. And Adrey knew for a fact that they weren¡¯t going to like it, whatever it was.


    Somehow, she had a feeling she¡¯d find out all too soon¡­


    <hr>


    <blockquote>


    ¡°It never mattered how many of them we killed. I¡¯d have sworn we wiped out the whole Set one time, and yet the next Eclipse came, and there they were again, slithering over the walls like always. I don¡¯t know what magic went into twisting the Nornfey, but I swear¡­ they¡¯re more like Shades than elves.¡± ¡ªCaptain Sgair MacDubhain, Laird of the Crae Manaan City Guard.


    </blockquote>


    <h2>Clipped Wing</h2>


    above Auldenheigh 09.06.03.12.10


    Auldenheigh. Auldenheigh.


    The Right Hand took a deep breath of ancient Vathelan¡¯s much-changed air, and almost laughed. What a name, and what a city! And what a view of it! Even from up here on the Clipped Wing, Auldenheigh¡¯s lichenous growth still sprawled as far as the eye could see in every direction, its otherwise circular stamp on the landscape only pulled out of shape by the stretching influence of the river, and the squeezing influence of the hills and Auld Forest.


    They took a deep breath and savored the tang of smoke on the air. Wood smoke from the houses, charcoal from the forges¡­It was the taste of millions of people heating their homes, forging their cutlery, living their lives.


    So many dissatisfied lost souls, who¡¯d never known the Forsaken Mother¡¯s love. And at long last, her Hands were here to deliver them.


    The Right Hand stretched out their own hand and caressed the Clipped Wing¡¯s dark wood. All those who pledged themselves to Lady Iaka¡¯s love did so by granting her a gift. For most, it was nothing less than their entire identity as a person. They gave her their dreams and ambitions, their fears, their pain and their souls, and she granted them serenity in gratitude.


    The Right Hand had given¡­most of themself. Certainly they had given their name and most of their life, in the form of memory. They knew they had once been an elf of some influence in the Ordfey courts, but the rest was the Mother¡¯s secret to keep. The same went for their counterpart and sibling, the Left Hand.


    Nils Civorage had given a ship.


    It wasn¡¯t the Right Hand¡¯s place to question Mother¡¯s decisions, of course, but they rather felt that Civorage had missed the point in giving a mundane, inanimate object. Though, they could not deny the utility of the Clipped Wing, nor her quality. She was the second ship built to the same plans as Ring of Eternity, one of only three in existence, and unlike her sister ships, she was built with some particular customizations and modifications to suit Tyulmater¡¯s needs.


    She did not carry the Protectress herself, of course. Lady Iaka was forever bound to her temple and the magic of the Lodehead beneath it. For her to step out of its confines would be to invite time to resume its remorseless grind on the mortal, human body the Crowns had reduced her to in their cruelty. It would not bring all the years down on her in a single avalanche, like many naive new followers first assumend, but it would erode her finite supply of precious seconds, and Iaka needed to reserve every one of those in pursuit of her long-term plans.


    Hence the Right Hand and the Left Hand. The Loving¡¯s oldest and most dedicated servants, and the architects of their clan¡¯s rebirth as the Tyulfey, the elves of darkness. The last of the Nornacha Set to bear the burden of individuality in any degree.


    Still, even as much of that as they could had been shed. The Hands surveyed the world from behind an entirely faceless dark mask, without mouth or slits or even eyeholes. They saw the world through a strip of diaphanous weave that crossed the bridge of her nose, but otherwise their masks were utterly opaque and featureless. Their garb likewise was plain, unadorned and cut as neutrally and as simply as possible. They were non-persons to the fullest degree they could be, until the day when Lady Iaka¡¯s plan came to fruition and they were finally granted the full peace of her embrace.


    There was a lot still to do before that blessed day, though. And it all pivoted here, on this greatest human city. And on one stupid, artless human whose first blundering attempt at the sacred duty had run him into the teeth of a magic that had thwarted them ever since, and whose every attempt to wriggle free had failed.


    Their sibling joined them at the prow. By design, the Left Hand and the Right Hand were almost impossible to tell apart, having shed every facet that might differentiate them. Name, voice, gender¡­all such protrusions had been sanded away, leaving only the pure, clean core of them both. There was a difference in chirality, inasmuch as the Left Hand was indeed left-handed, but this merely created a complimentary symmetry between them, not division.


    There was no communication between them for the moment. There was no need. They both knew why they were here, arriving in this unmissable manner. Their thoughts were aligned, nearly identical. But the Left Hand¡¯s arrival was a signal that the time had come. The Right Hand nodded, then jumped over the airship¡¯s rail.


    They landed as lightly, silently and harmlessly as a squirrel among the reeking stack of household chimneys. Around and behind them, the Left Hand and the Set alighted with similar ease. With the precision and dexterity of a single guiding intellect, they spread out and vanished, darting away across the rooftops in sure-footed bounds that carried them easily across streets and wide thoroughfares yet never dislodged a tile.


    They were hunting. There were disordered souls out there, humans who, in innocence and ignorance, clung to the trap of self. They would be found. They would be given peace and happiness.


    And then, because all else had failed, they would have to die. It was the only way to break the witch-thaighn¡¯s curse


    But that in itself meant their deaths would mean something. If the Right Hand had still been in possession of a conscience, that alone would have been sufficient to soothe it. As it was¡­they had no need of soothing. There were no compunctions, no qualms, no worries. There was only the instruction, and the hunt.


    They glanced at the Left Hand, nodded once, and together went bounding away across the rooftops in search of one very particular target.


    <hr>


    <blockquote>


    ¡°The constabulary was founded by decree of Duke Errard, who faced a particular problem in his war against Comte Gavier Navarro de los Oderos, the so-called ¡®Oderan King.¡¯ Hitherto, the law had been enforced on a case-by-case basis by the Enerlish nobility, who would raise militias or direct a portion of their regiments to investigating and punishing crime. With so much of the duchy¡¯s men-at-arms marching dexter to war against de los Oderos and his men, Duke Errard found himself in need of an alternative solution. Thus was founded the constabulary: a civilian force whose oath swore them to uphold the law, protect the peace and serve the common good. The constabulary has endured ever since, through the reigns of duke Einharth and Duchess Ellaenie, and has continued into the reign of House Telliker under Duke Betrem. ¡ªWolder Ruddie, The Legacy of House Banmor


    </blockquote>


    <h2>Briefing</h2>


    Constables¡¯ House, Old City, Auldenheigh 09.06.03.12.10


    ¡°These orders come direct from the Duke, Serjant.¡±


    Jed Bothroyd knew how to play this game. His particular role for the Blackdrake consisted of appearing to be a hopeless, beaten old man whose career had stopped due to his lack of ambition and backbone, who¡¯d just hopelessly plod on without pushing back against orders he didn¡¯t like. It was a role he had played well for years now, and it had successfully warded off suspicion many times, most recently after the Duchess¡¯ raid on the Circle.


    Even a spineless no-hoper had to push back a little at times, though. If for no other reason than to give the appearance of folding.


    He kept himself at an appropriately upright posture, with his helmet tucked under his arm, and addressed the wall behind the Chief Superintendent¡¯s head. ¡°I understan¡¯ that, Chief, but these Clear Skies men aren¡¯t coppers, if¡¯n ye follow me.¡±


    The chief gave him a cold stare which Bothroyd ignored. Slimy bugger. the Superintendents to a man were free collaborators installed by Ducal command, and the Chief in particular, one Orlan Wotken, was getting rich on it as if he¡¯d be able to enjoy a rusty steel scrip of his wealth once the city was fully conquered and Oneness was achieved.


    ¡°I¡¯m sure I don¡¯t, serjant,¡± Wotken said.


    ¡°I means they¡¯re¡­they¡¯re not local lads, sir. They don¡¯t know the streets, know the folks, know ¡®ow ¡®t¡¯city works. Some of ¡®em are foreign sorts as don¡¯t even speak Garanese, sir.¡±


    ¡°They don¡¯t need to, Serjant, that isn¡¯t their role. Their role is to maintain order.¡±


    ¡°Beggin¡¯ y¡¯pardon, sir, but that¡¯s a damnsight easier t¡¯do wi¡¯ kind words than wi¡¯ rifles. S¡¯called community policin¡¯, sir.¡±


    Wotken gave him a haughty look. ¡°I wasn¡¯t aware you were the one in charge of policy, serjant.¡±


    ¡°No sir.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re a gutter-treader, serjant, and don¡¯t you forget it. Your perspective is narrow and street-level . You don¡¯t see the bigger picture. Leave that to your betters.¡±


    ¡°As you say, sir.¡± Bothroyd replied evenly, desperately wishing he could add, ¡®do let me know when such a fellow shows up.¡¯ ¡°Still, we¡¯ve ¡®ad no less than ten cases o¡¯ these Clear Skies men shootin¡¯ first over stuff my lads would ¡®ave ¡®andled peacefully, sir. Six men are dead.¡±


    ¡°Six curfew-breakers, Serjant.¡±


    ¡°Is curfew breakin¡¯ a capital offense, sir?¡±


    ¡°It damn well should be!¡± Wotken rose from his desk. ¡°How many people died at that Circle? The terrorists crashed a bloody airship on it! And they murdered innocent members of the faith community! Anyone abroad after dark in the wake of that is acting like a terrorist, and I won¡¯t stand for it!¡±


    Bothroyd shifted his feet uneasily. ¡°I¡¯m jus¡¯ worried the public won¡¯t see it that way, sir. We¡¯ll ¡®ave riots if we¡¯re too ¡®eavy-¡¯anded.¡±


    ¡°Good! Then we can flush out the malcontents and agitators and finally get this damn city under control!¡± Wotken strode to the sideboard by the window and poured himself a brandy. He didn¡¯t over one to Jed. ¡°You have no spine, Bothroyd.¡±


    ¡°So you¡¯ve told me before, sir.¡±


    ¡°Nor are you a student of history. We¡¯re in the midst of a succession crisis and an upheaval. These are the times that break inattentive civilizations. If it ends in revolution, it¡¯ll be your neck swinging from a rope next to mine, but your¡­.soft, mealy, coddling approach to policing brings the little bit closer every day. Do you want to hang, Serjant?¡±


    ¡°No, sir.¡±


    ¡°No, sir.¡± Wotken echoed, with a hint of mockery. He knocked back the brandy and poured a second. ¡°We have an army in the city now. We have airships. Let the people riot if they think it¡¯ll do them some good. We¡¯ll put them down hard, round up the troublemakers, and then we¡¯ll finally have a compliant and harmonious Auldenheigh. It¡¯s like surgery. You ever seen a man having his leg off, serjant?¡±


    ¡°Can¡¯t say as I ¡®ave, sir.¡±


    Wotken drank his second brandy. ¡°Grim sight. Tied down, thrashing and screaming. Hate to endure it myself. But it¡¯s better than dying of gangrene. And the best surgeons, the ones who save the most lives, are the ones who have the strength of will to ignore the patient¡¯s whimpering and get that leg off him as quick as may be. The quicker the better! It¡¯s brutal, it¡¯s agonizing, but it saves lives. That¡¯s what we¡¯re doing.¡±


    Bothroyd didn¡¯t let his thoughts show on his face. Instead he settled for shifting uncomfortably as if squeamish, and fidgeting with the helmet under his arm. ¡°Sir.¡±


    Wotken scoffed and returned to his desk. ¡°The Clear Skies marines are here to stay, and the city is under martial law now,¡± he said, as though it hadn¡¯t been before. ¡°I don¡¯t care if you disagree with the decision. If it matters to you so much, I¡¯ll accept your badge and you can go home to your wife.¡±


    There was a long silence. Bothroyd finally stopped staring at the wall and dropped his gaze down and to one side as though shamed and capitulating. Wotken stared at him, then grunted and pulled a document over from his in tray to read it. ¡°If you¡¯re that worried about this ¡®community policing¡¯ of yours, you can go out and be nice to the public on your own time, see how it ends for you,¡± he said. ¡°While you are on duty, I expect you to carry out your orders as His Grace the Duke has commanded, the Chief Constable has directed and I have conveyed. Dismissed.¡±


    Bothroyd ducked his head in a sharp little nod and retreated from the office.


    Well, that had gone about as well as he imagined it would, but Wotken had given away quite a lot. The man was more complex than a first reading might suggest, being hideously eager to please his own masters and superiors, and cunning enough to know a good idea when he heard it so he could steal it and pretend it was his own. For him to shut down Bothroyd¡¯s suggestion of a softer community-based approach said that riots weren¡¯t merely an acceptable hardship, but part of the plan. Auldenheigh¡¯s new masters wanted blood to run in the streets.


    That was a sharp change in direction. Up until now, the plan so far as the Blackdrake Network could tell had been to maintain peace and order while the Circles slowly converted and absorbed the populace at a quiet, steady, gentle pace that wouldn¡¯t cause a panic. ¡°Like slicing a gammon,¡± as Bothroyd liked to put it: no individual slice cut enough away to prompt alarm, but it was astonishing how quickly the ham disappeared in hindsight.


    To abandon that course was¡­insane, so far as he could tell. What had changed? Why had it changed?


    Never mind all that: how could they stop it?


    ¡°Serjant?¡±


    Bothroyd emerged from his thoughts and considered the constables of his squad. Good lads, one and all. Young¡¯ns he¡¯d taken under his wing, older men whose judgement and character he trusted. Seven of them, and all deeply worried by this further tightening of the Oneist vice. Sitting alongside them were Barrow Coppicer¡¯s squad, also awaiting his return. Fifteen men all told. Fifteen of the best¡­and fifteen of the last good¡¯uns in the city. All the rest had either been Encircled or forced out for speaking their mind too frankly at the wrong time.


    And all the bad¡¯uns were fully behind the Guild, if they weren¡¯t joining up.


    He shook his head grimly at them. ¡°We¡¯re no longer the law in this city, lads. The army is, an¡¯ the Clear Skies men in particular.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not right, sarge,¡± Willowman commented sourly. The others nodded along with him.


    ¡°Whether it¡¯s right or no, ¡®tis out¡¯ve our ¡®ands,¡± Bothroyd told him. ¡°All we ¡®ave left is what¡¯s in our power t¡¯do. So while the army an Guildsmen peacock around our city wi¡¯out proper restraint, we¡¯re gonna show ¡®em what proper constables are.¡±


    ¡°It won¡¯t ¡®elp,¡± Serjant Coppicer noted. He was Jed¡¯s counterpart and closest companion on the force, a man he wished he could have kept in his squad as senior constable¡­but no. His promotion had been necessary and good, and damn difficult to arrange in the present climate. But not even the Wotken had been able to ignore Coppicer¡¯s unblemished service record and manifest merit.


    ¡°¡­Let¡¯s get out on beat, lads. We can natter while we¡¯re workin¡¯.¡±


    They filed out of the building, and formed up unto their squads on patrol. In better times, fifteen men would have been an entirely too sizeable force to go patrolling about this part of the city in one unit, and the serjants would have dispatched their men in pairs to beat the streets while their mates were to hand in case of trouble. But these were grim days. Now, two squads moving as a unit was unremarkable.


    Coppicer fell in alongside Bothroyd at the front of their column as they walked. ¡°So. ¡®Ow¡¯s it gonna go, you think?¡±


    ¡°I think¡­¡± Jed said, keeping his voice low so that prying ears would not hear him over the tramp of booted feet, ¡°that we¡¯re ¡®eaded for a tragedy, soon.¡±


    ¡°Deliberately.¡±


    ¡°Aye. It¡¯ll be summat nasty, too. Summat t¡¯get th¡¯ public rightly angry. An¡¯ then when they¡¯re out there remonstratin¡¯ wi¡¯ the law¡ª¡±


    ¡°Some loudmouths in the crowd t¡¯make things worse.¡±


    ¡°Aye. An if they¡¯re real clever¡ª¡±


    ¡°¡ªWhich they are¡ª¡±


    ¡°¡ªWhich they are¡­they¡¯ll make a show o¡¯ retrievin¡¯ the loudmouths an¡¯ brutalizin¡¯ them, too. Might stage a murder in plain view, even.¡±


    Coppicer grunted. ¡°Stage it? I wouldn¡¯t put it past these buggers to do it for real.¡±


    Jed gave him a wary look. ¡°You might be right. They want things to turn bloody. They want war in¡¯t streets.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯ll bloody get it,¡± Coppicer noted. ¡°Nowt we can do to stop it, is there?¡±


    ¡°¡­Nowt I can see,¡± Bothroyd admitted.


    They trudged in silence for a minute before Coppicer asked, quietly, ¡°¡­D¡¯you no¡¯ have anything, Jed?¡±


    Jed glanced over his shoulder at his squad, and at the hateful looks people were shooting them from behind after they¡¯d gone past. ¡°Barry¡­at this point, I dunno if E?rrach ¡®imself showin¡¯ up would make a diff¡¯rence.¡±


    ¡°Oh, surely it would. ¡®E¡¯d bring this to a peaceful end, for sure¡­¡±


    ¡°¡¯E won¡¯t, though.¡±


    Barrow Coppicer sighed heavily. ¡°Know for sure, do you?¡±


    ¡°You do too.¡±


    Coppicer nodded glumly, and said nothing. They walked in silence to the end of the street, each man chewing over an endless stream of futile ideas. Both of them knew with horrible certainty that, if there was anything that could prevent a massacre, it wasn¡¯t within their power.


    ¡°¡­What¡¯s a man to do in times like these?¡± Coppicer asked, quietly.


    This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.


    Bothryod inhaled sharply through his nose as he reached a conclusion of sorts. ¡°Same thing ¡®e does in all bad weather. Bends ¡®is back, bows ¡®is ¡®ead, an¡¯ keeps on trudgin¡¯ through.¡±


    ¡°To what end?¡±


    ¡°To whatever¡¯s on t¡¯far side. For good or ill¡­an¡¯ we¡¯ll only ¡®ave the chance to make it good if we show up.¡±


    Coppicer didn¡¯t reply, but Bothroyd was watching his expression. Nothing changed in it, as such¡ªhis friend¡¯s brow was still furrowed, his eyes still tired and the set of his mouth still grim¡ªbut it did become stiller, somehow. Harder.


    Good.


    He caught something out of the corner of his eye, glanced toward it, signalled recognition with an up-nod, then cleared his throat. ¡°Keep the squads together. Patrol aroun¡¯ Heralds¡¯ Park an¡¯ meet me back ¡®ere. I¡¯ve got a Lad Jack ¡®ta meet,¡± he said, using the Constabulary¡¯s internal nickname for the informants and gossipers who kept them informed for a little coin, or some leniency when it came to their own petty crimes.


    ¡°¡¯Bout what?¡±


    ¡°Nothin¡¯, most like. But we¡¯ll see.¡± He peeled off from the group and ducked through the door of a pub called the Water Fowl Inn, tucking his helmet back under his arm as he did so. There was a beer waiting for him at the bar already, and he slid himself onto a stool to take a much-needed swig in silence.


    ¡°You¡¯re late,¡± the figure to his left commented.


    ¡°Shit weather.¡± Bothroyd swigged his drink again. ¡°Gettin¡¯ worse, too.¡±


    The figure nodded, then lowered his voice. ¡°What¡¯s the word?¡±


    ¡°My choice is to do as the Guild men tell me, or turn over me badge. You?¡±


    ¡°All the regiments an¡¯ ships ¡®ave been sent out on maneuvers. Ev¡¯ry armed man in the city is either the ones the Duke brought in from Betlend way, or Guild men. There¡¯s no Auldenheigh lads protectin¡¯ Audenheigh now.¡±


    ¡°No-one wi¡¯ a personal stake.¡±


    ¡°Exactly.¡± The man swigged his drink with a slight tremor in his hand. ¡°An¡¯ there¡¯s been rumors all since the ships arrived. Folks say they¡¯ve seen figures on th¡¯ rooftops. Elves, they¡¯re sayin¡¯.¡±


    ¡°What kind of elves?¡±


    ¡°Like none I ever ¡®eard of. Black as ink, grey as fog, an¡¯ stark-arse naked if you believe it.¡±


    Bothroyd frowned into his beer before taking a slow, careful draught as his mind turned that detail over. He lowered his voice until it was impossible anyone could hear him save the other man, and even he had to listen carefully. ¡°Alright. You remember the plan we made?¡±


    ¡°¡­Now?¡±


    ¡°Not jus¡¯ yet. But be ready. If I send the word, I need you out the city an¡¯ on ¡®yer way within the hour.


    ¡°Jed¡ª¡±


    ¡°I mean it, lad. I want bags packed, the women an¡¯ little¡¯uns told, an¡¯ th¡¯ whole family ready to be gone on a moment¡¯s notice. Summat bad is comin¡¯.¡±


    His son-in-law tensed up a moment, then nodded and finished his drink. ¡°Right.¡±


    ¡°A man who looks to ¡®is family in these times is jus¡¯ doin¡¯ ¡®is duty, Danel. You keep me grandchildren out o¡¯ ¡®arm¡¯s way, leave me worry about rest. Deal?¡±


    ¡°Yes sir.¡±


    ¡°Good lad.¡± Bothroyd finished his drink as well, and rose to his feet, patting the younger man on his shoulder. ¡°See you at lunch on the tenth I ¡®ope, if not sooner.¡±


    ¡°Be safe, Jed.¡±


    ¡°Do me best, lad.¡± And that was that. he strolled back out into the street and cut through the park to catch up with his men.


    He was, at least, a little bit less afraid now.


    <hr>


    <blockquote>


    ¡°Auldenheigh¡¯s tram system is the marvel of the modern age, combining as it does all the lessons and technologies that have come from the airship industry. Thanks to the generating mill at Auldbend, a network that once relied on horses now runs entirely on the miraculous power of electricity, allowing Auldenheigh¡¯s citizens to travel in warmth, light and comfort at all hours of the day and night.¡± ¡ªMiss Beka Tinshearer, A Tourist¡¯s Guide to Auldenheigh


    </blockquote>


    <h2>Visiting the Peltons</h2>


    Leadbanks district, Auldenheigh, Enerlend 09.06.03.12.10


    ¡°Samandra Bannant¡± alighted from a private carriage at Mr. and Mrs. Pelton¡¯s city address, a fashionable three-up townhouse in the affluent district of Leadbanks, and held in the nervous urge to take a deep breath or check all her weapons were still in place. She knew they were. She had ¡®hatpins¡¯ strapped to her thigh, a cutting knife in her bustle, two pistols up her sleeves¡­and a deep, deep hope she would need none of them.


    Instead of showing her nerves, Adrey forced a smile onto her face and ascended to the front doo, only to find it being opened for her before she¡¯d even set foot on the bottom step. An older man in the severe but well-cut black suit of a butler gave her a respectful little bow. ¡°Good afternoon, Ms. Bannant. Sir and Madam are waiting for you in the parlor. My name is Elston, shall I take your coat?¡±


    ¡°Thank you, Mister Elston.¡±


    ¡°Of course, ma¡¯am.¡± He took her coat, escorted her to the parlor door, and vanished.


    Mister Kal Pelton rose to his feet as she entered. Adrey hadn¡¯t actually engaged with him much at the social event a few days prior, but she saw immediately that here was a charming and clever man. Not, frankly, the most beautiful man she had ever met, or at least not to her tastes. Adrey had always favored dapper, slim, boyish men, while Kal Pelton was burly and stern-faced rather than handsome, with a thickness around the midriff which spoke either of over-eating or of prodigious strength. Adrey judged it to be the latter from the way his sleeves pulled tight around the shoulder and upper arm. His eyes were dark, piercing, and gave away very little, and the set of his mouth was largely hidden behind a neatly cultivated full beard.


    Mrs. Mari Pelton, on the other hand, was nearly as tall as her husband, with astonishing curves, a cascade of golden curls and a face that would have been beautiful enough to make Adrey¡¯s heart flutter were it not for her eyes. Oh, the broad smile and embrace she offered as though greeting an old friend rather than a new acquaintance gave her a semblance of warmth, but her eyes were a pale grey so striking as to be unsettling, with an unceasing calculation and hunger behind them that set Adrey¡¯s danger sense to itching.


    They exchanged the mandatory social pleasantries and got settled. Elston brought in coffee and some light refreshments, and then¡­business.


    ¡°I¡¯m sure you¡¯ve noticed our new guests in the city,¡± Mister Pelton said, sliding onto the couch alongside his wife.


    Adrey nodded and sipped her coffee. ¡°I had. Quite the show of capability.¡±


    ¡°A statement of intent. The world is changing, Miss Bannant. Enerlend¡ªthe whole of Garanhir, even¡ªwas in danger of being left behind by the very technological and magical innovations our peoples were at the forefront of inventing.¡±


    Adrey said nothing, but quirked her head and an eyebrow at him as she sipped, in a silent invitation to elaborate.


    Mrs. Pelton took over. ¡°Consider airships for a moment. With airships, I could have the finest Oderan silver tea service delivered inside the week. Or strawberries from Frudlend, shipped on ice and still fresh. And with the power of electricity, soon I¡¯ll be able to place those orders without having to pay a mage to send the message telepathically.¡±


    ¡°Those are only the personal benefits, though,¡± Mister Pelton added. ¡°Consider on a grander scale, what such capability means for governance and the reach of law and civilization. Faster and easier communication, quicker deployment of men and supplies¡­¡±


    He paused, apparently expecting Adrey to complete the thought. She mused on it for a moment, trying to see things from the perspective of wealthy gentry who lacked any of the formal power and accolades of the titled aristocracy¡­.


    ¡­Ah.


    ¡°I suppose¡­well, historically of course every duchy had its counties, every county its barony, every barony its manors¡­¡± she said, carefully.


    Mrs. Pelton smiled. ¡°Exactly, my dear. The king, when there was one, could not be everywhere at once, and thus a hierarchy of those who acted in his stead, and they with hierarchies of their own in turn, and so on and so forth down to the common man on his little plot of land. The various dukes and counts and viscounts and all the rest were an appropriate measure, but now¡­¡±


    ¡°Now times have changed,¡± Adrey finished for her. ¡°the dukes are obsolete.¡±


    ¡°Oh, they have been for some time. Dear Duchess Ellaenie, the silly girl, she was really just a figurehead, wasn¡¯t she? And Duke Betrem, bless him, even more so. But a figurehead for who?¡±


    Adrey offered an honestly uncertain answer. ¡°Well..the duchy, isn¡¯t it? Enerlend¡¯s parliament.¡±


    Mrs. Pelton chuckled softly. ¡°It all seems a little silly to me, don¡¯t you agree? If we¡¯re to have a parliament, why not just have the parliament? Why do we need a duke at all? They¡¯re a vestigial organ of a bygone era.¡± She leaned forward. ¡°But¡­why have a parliament, for that matter?¡±


    Adrey sipped her coffee again, frowning. ¡°Are you suggesting that parliament is a vestigial organ now, too?¡±


    ¡°Well of course it is, dear. It¡¯s a relic of a time when travel was slow and messages were expensive and imprecise. Parliament sits half the year, then spends the remaining half at home among their constituents to try and learn their needs? It¡¯s a relic of the horse-and-cart-and-wizard years, Miss Bannant.¡±


    ¡®Samandra¡¯ smiled slowly. ¡°You foresee an imminent change, and you intend to benefit.¡±


    ¡°An enormous change, yes.¡± Mister Pelten stood up to walk slowly about the room. ¡°Another question for you, Miss Bannant. Why have we always needed the structures of duchy, county, barony and so forth?¡±


    An easy answer. ¡°To keep order.¡±


    ¡°Exactly. Order is a more delicate thing than some like to believe. Even in the most peaceful and harmonious of times, our city is patrolled by constables with pistol and cudgel to maintain it, and in these more fractious days¡­¡±


    ¡°Loyal men with rifles,¡± Mrs. Pelton nodded. ¡°But they are a terribly crude instrument, my dear.¡±


    Adrey considered this, frowning slightly as she put together her understanding of their thoughts. ¡°¡­And now we have a more refined instrument?¡±


    ¡°Several.¡± Mrs. Pelton leaned forward with ambition glittering in her eyes. ¡°Picture it, Samandra dear. Picture a properly orderly world, without a criminal element, with no need for armed men to keep the peace. Picture a world where those who know what¡¯s best can place themselves at the center of all information, let it come to them, let it flow from them, and govern wisely without needed to stoop to parochial pantomime.¡±


    ¡°A world where everyone knows their place and is happy there,¡± Mister Pelton agreed.


    It sounded ghastly to Adrey, knowing what she did. But Samandra sat back and considered it, and her expression grew misty. ¡°A world where everyone is happy in their place¡­¡± she muttered softly.


    ¡°That is what we are working toward,¡± Mrs. Pelton told her, fervently. ¡°Peace. Order. For the common folk, the bliss of Oneness. For the elite, the certainty that we will never again have to appease and pander to the whims of the uneducated mob. Everyone wins.¡±


    ¡°I see¡­¡± ¡®Samandra¡¯ thought about it while finishing her coffee. ¡°And what would my role be in all this?¡±


    ¡°Oh, darling! You¡¯re too much of a delight to abandon to the grey morass of the Circles!¡±


    Adrey smiled. ¡°Well, I¡¯m flattered, but surely there¡¯s more I can offer than my sparkling company alone¡­¡±


    She saw the two of them exchange a glance. There was a lot in that glance, more than she could read. These were dangerous, dangerous people. Perhaps they guessed her real identity and wanted to earn prestige by turning her over to Civorage¡­though then again, no. He would have been here to surprise her, if they thought that. No, she had something they wanted to exploit for themselves.


    ¡°Well¡­¡± Mari Pelton shifted from her own couch to sit next to Adrey, close enough to envelope her in the scent of perfume and the warmth of her nearness. The move almost stalled Adrey¡¯s brain entirely. Crowns, was she resorting to seduction? ¡°Let¡¯s talk about what we can offer you first¡­¡±


    ¡°The world, all its riches, and immortality?¡± ¡®Samandra¡¯ ventured, looking her in the eye. Pelton laughed.


    ¡°All of that,¡± she agreed. ¡°Even the immortality.¡±


    ¡°And more besides?¡±


    ¡°Much more besides.¡± Pelton almost purred. ¡°You said yourself, you¡¯re eager to start living¡­¡±


    Crowns, could it really be that simple? Could they really just be after¡­her? Could it be that all they wanted was to seduce her, take pleasure from her, then throw her away to fall back down among the Encircled masses?


    She glanced at Mr. Pelton. He was leaning affably against the fireplace nibbling a dainty sandwich and watching the two of them. His face gave nothing away, beyond a slight smile. When she looked back at Mari, the buxom gentlewoman¡¯s striking grey eyes were boring into hers with an intensity that amplified her closeness and conveyed an interest Adrey had never received from another woman before¡­


    Could it be that simple? Or¡­or did they think she was that simple, and that they could entrap her with a torrid game and extract what they really wanted from her that way? What could Samandra Bannant have that they wanted, beyond the opportunity to enjoy a plaything? Which way should she lean? Either way felt like underestimating them.


    On the other hand¡­this was a move in the game between them. A stake of some kind had been laid on the table, and Adrey¡¯s only options were to fold her hand and walk away, or see it and find out what came next.


    Duty forbade her from walking away. So she rolled the dice. Let Mari think she was succeeding.


    ¡°I am,¡± she said, not having to fake the stressed, nervous note in her voice or the pounding of her heart. ¡°But, ah, I¡¯m¡­unused to such, um¡­¡± her eyes darted downward to Mari¡¯s ample cleavage. ¡°¡­Largess.¡±


    Mari giggled. ¡°Oh, it¡¯s not largess. Just a little¡­tit for tat?¡±


    Despite herself, Adrey laughed at the double entendre. ¡°Hah! Oh¡­um¡­Well. That¡¯s¡­very appealing.¡±


    Mari laughed as well, clearly pleased with the effect she was apparently having. ¡°We¡¯re eager to enjoy life too,¡± she purred. ¡°After all, what¡¯s the point in being among the elite if you don¡¯t enjoy the perks that come with it?¡±


    ¡°And¡­what perks are those?¡± Adrey asked. Mari¡¯s eyes really were hypnotic. But there was no magic in them, no attempt by an intrusive will to push in on her and dominate her thoughts. She¡¯d taken a draught of Ellaenie¡¯s potion, she¡¯d know. This was just a very, very beautiful woman using all her charms and the intoxicating power of her closeness.


    It was a more intense thing to be on the receiving end of than she¡¯d expected.


    Mari¡¯s voice was musical, and her breath touched Adrey¡¯s ear as she leaned in a hair closer. ¡°No masters but ourselves. No inconvenient, awkward, stupid game of prestige and influence. The freedom to be who we really are¡­¡± she murmured, the sound of it bringing an unwanted blush to Adrey¡¯s cheeks. ¡°Imagine being the ones who set the rules, rather than having to live by them¡­¡±


    Adrey wanted to argue. Adrey want to remind her that those who don¡¯t obey the very rules they set had no moral standing to enforce them. Adrey felt nothing but contempt for what she was hearing.


    But she steeled herself, remembered why she was here, and allowed Samandra Bannant to be weaker, greedier, more selfish and more easily seduced.


    ¡°It does¡­it does sound good¡­¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m certain it does¡­¡±


    Adrey had little experience of kissing. A few fumbling, stolen snogs with a couple of noble boys her age during the summers of her teenage years hadn¡¯t prepared her for the heat, softness and flavor of Mari Pelton¡¯s lips. She stiffened, unsure what to do, torn all sorts of ways between the cautious part of her that was screaming she should pull out of this mission that had taken such an unexpected and unwanted turn, her duty to stay the course and see how deep into the Peltons¡¯ confidence she could get and what she could find out, her personal distaste for the Peltons and the slavery their ambition would help usher in¡­and from some unexplored primitive part of her soul, a profound arousal that left her feeling dirty and ashamed.


    She was lost in her own private agony of indecision for a few long seconds, until Mari laughed softly and sat back. ¡°¡­Not ready yet? Too bad.¡±


    ¡°I¡­ah¡­¡± Adrey fought for an act, an angle to play, something to say. Mari just laughed and looked across the toom to her husband. Kal smiled, and handed them both a small glass of sparkling wine.


    Mari gave her a sympathetic smile as she took her drink. ¡°No, no. I¡¯m sorry, my dear. I got ahead of myself,¡± she said, and sipped the wine.


    Adrey took a more generous swig. ¡°Is¡­that what you want from me?¡± she asked.


    ¡°Oh, we want it,¡± Mari crooned softly, but shook her head. ¡°But it¡¯s not all we want. Business has to come before pleasure, doesn¡¯t it?¡±


    ¡°Then, uh¡­¡± Adrey cleared her throat and straightened her back. ¡°Perhaps¡­perhaps we should discuss business.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps we should,¡± Kal agreed with a smirk. He seemed to be¡­oddly far away. And small.


    ¡°Um¡ª¡± Adrey began. Something was wrong. Something was terribly wrong. What was it?


    ¡°Oh, don¡¯t worry about it, darling,¡± Mari raised a hand to cup her cheek and stroke it like a tender lover. It felt¡­good. Very good. Very¡­


    Very¡­


    ¡­oh.


    Shit. The wine!


    ¡°Y-yooouu¡­¡± Adrey tried, but Mari just laughed delicately and took the wine glass from her unresisting, paralyzed hand while continuing to caress her cheek.


    ¡°Yes, Countess Adrey Mossjoy,¡± she said, and her face and her words seemed to be falling away to the far end of a long, dark corridor. ¡°We¡¯re going to have an awful lot of fun with you¡­¡±


    Adrey remembered the suicide pill tucked in the back of her mouth, between her teeth and her cheek. She remembered the hatpins at her thigh. But she couldn¡¯t remember what to do with them. She couldn¡¯t¡­


    Couldn¡¯t¡­


    ¡­something¡­.


    The last thing she saw before she fainted was the Peltons chiming their glasses together in a toast. Then their laughter chased her down into the dark, and she was gone.


    <hr>


    <blockquote>


    ¡°There is a reason men of high honour disdain spycraft: it is the exact same reason that spies disdain men of high honour.¡± ¡ªDuke Einharth of House Banmor, personal diaries.


    </blockquote>


    <h2>Emergency meeting</h2>


    Woodyards, Auldenheigh, Enerlend 09.06.03.12.10


    ¡°Bothroyd.¡±


    ¡°Skinner.¡±


    They nodded at each other and set up on opposite sides of the stack of planks where Skinner¡¯s maps and documents were currently unrolled. He¡¯d relocated to a timber warehouse for this meeting; the shelves around them were heavy with boards and beams, and the air was just as heavy with the scent of sawn wood. They weren¡¯t alone, either: SKinner had called a meeting, in a daring and dangerous but necessary move. The Network needed to be acting with one will right now, and that meant taking the risk of coming together for a real face-to-face. Bothroyd made his hellos, met a few people for the first time, was surprised to learn that a couple of men he already knew were part of the Network as well¡­


    But there was no time for pleasantries and small talk. They had to get this done and scatter as quick as may be.


    ¡°I won¡¯t keep ¡®yer, ladies and gents,¡± Skinner told them. ¡°Quick summary, quick action plan, then we go.¡±


    Heads bobbed agreement, and he continued.


    ¡°We all know about the Clear Skies guildsmen out on th¡¯ streets. But we¡¯ve got confirmation now: Civorage is in town. Right now, ¡®e¡¯s up at the Ducal palace, an¡¯ likely to stay there. That black ship ¡®e brought with ¡®im, we don¡¯t know¡­but we do know it was full of hag elves. They were seen jumpin¡¯ off in ones an¡¯ twos all over the city.¡±


    There was muttering and uneasy shifting around the table.


    ¡°Now, we don¡¯t rightly know what the hag elves are to Civorage, but they¡¯re known ¡®ta work with ¡®im. Wordspeaker says they do ¡®is biddin¡¯, an¡¯ we know they attacked the Thunderin¡¯ Hall a few weeks back. They¡¯re bad news. Elf-deadly, quick to the kill, silent an¡¯ smart. They will sniff us out if we¡¯re visible at all, so from ¡®ere on out until I give the all clear, we¡¯re locked down. Minimum necessary messages, all operations that can be put on ¡®old, are now on ¡®old. When your agents come back in from their field assignments, you tell ¡®em to lurk in their safehouses and do nothing. We may have an opportunity to strike back and ¡®urt the enemy, but we¡¯ll only manage it by bein¡¯ disciplined and sneaky.¡±


    Bothroyd raised a hand, and spoke when Skinner nodded at him.


    ¡°There¡¯s more to it than bringin¡¯ the elves in,¡± he said. ¡°I dunno why yet, but the Guildsmen on th¡¯ street ¡®ave orders to put down curfew breakers, no mercy. Far as I can tell, CIvorage wants a riot, an¡¯ ¡®e wants it to get bloody.¡±


    ¡°There owt we can do to stop it?¡± Skinner asked.


    Bothroyd shook his head and shrugged. ¡°Keep our people out of it. Other¡¯n that, not that I see.¡±


    There were dark, angry mutterings and a volley of curses around the room. Skinner took a deep breath, then looked everyone around the room in the eye. ¡°Right. For now, jus¡¯ focus on stayin¡¯ alive. Do what you can to calm things wi¡¯out compromisin¡¯ yourselves, but remember: we¡¯ll get one chance to to stick a spanner in th¡¯ engines, so th¡¯ most important thing is bein¡¯ ready to do it when an¡¯ where will do most damage. All else is secondary. Everyone understand?¡±


    There were grim nods.


    ¡°Right. Dismissed. I trust you all know ¡®ow to get ¡®ome wi¡¯out causin¡¯ a stir. Jed? A word.¡±


    They retreated into a small office while all the others slipped away in ones and twos through various exits. As soon as they were alone, Skinner spilled the bad news.


    ¡°Countess was payin¡¯ a social call to some free collaborators today, the Peltons. She¡¯s missed two status signals, and ¡®er scheduled egress.¡±


    ¡°Shit.¡± Jeb rubbed his face. ¡°Any chance she¡¯s just in too deep an¡¯ can¡¯t risk it?¡±


    ¡°Possible, but my gut says not. I need you to get the squad together and go on over to the Peltons¡¯ address. Anonymous informant, wanted terrorist seen entering the property¡ª¡±


    ¡°..I ¡®ate to say it, but someone ¡®as to,¡± Bothroyd cut in. ¡°She¡¯s jus¡¯ one woman, Skinner, an¡¯ if she got caught then there¡¯s a good chance she bit ¡®er pill. Is she worth the exposure?¡±


    ¡°We can¡¯t afford uncertainty, not now,¡± Skinner replied. ¡°We need to know if she¡¯s dead or alive, and if she¡¯s alive, whether she¡¯s Encircled.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve cleaned up everythin¡¯ she coulda compromised, ¡®aven¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°Except you. You¡¯re the one brought her in, remember?¡±


    ¡°¡­Shit.¡±


    ¡°Yeah,¡± Skinner gave a dark nod. ¡°S¡¯why I¡¯m willin¡¯ to risk exposin¡¯ you. If she¡¯s caught an¡¯ compromised, you¡¯re done anyway.¡±


    ¡°And if not, this is my chance to nip it in the bud,¡± Bothroyd nodded along. ¡°Arright. If she¡¯s alive an¡¯ safe, what then?¡±


    ¡°You and the squad will be ¡®waylaid by terrorists¡¯ on the way back to the lockup. An¡¯ no matter what you find, you stick the Peltons with a couple of her ¡®hatpins¡¯ to make it look like she assassinated them.¡±


    Bothroyd grimaced, not much relishing the notion. ¡°I¡¯ve¡­never killed a man, Skinner. Not in anger nor in cold blood.¡±


    Skinner sighed. ¡°I can have someone else do it, if you think you can¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°¡­Maybe. I dunno. Stupid bloody thing to balk at, in¡¯t it? The Peltons¡¯d ¡®ave us all as slaves¡­¡±


    Skinner clapped a hand on his shoulder, gave him a nod that said he understood and that Jed need say nothing more, then canted a head toward a back door. ¡°You¡¯d better get on. Time¡¯s short, an¡¯ Adrey¡¯s may be shorter still.¡±


    ¡°Right.¡± Bothroyd headed for the door. ¡°¡­¡¯Ey. If this goes awry at all¡ª¡±


    ¡°Your family¡¯ll be out the city inside the hour, I promise,¡± Skinner said.


    Bothroyd nodded, took a deep breath, and headed out.


    He was not at all confident of success.


    <hr>


    <blockquote>


    ¡°Perfection is only visible atop distant mountains.¡± ¡ªYunei proverb


    </blockquote>


    <h2>A gentle awakening</h2>


    Unknown address, Auldenheigh, Enerlend 09.06.03.12.10


    Adrey woke to a tender kiss on her forehead, and the feeling of fingers softly stroking her cheek. For a second or two it was bliss and she was unconsciously rolling her head into the loving touch and sighing happily when memory landed on her like a crashing airship.


    She went to jerk upright, to fight, to kill, then gasped in pain as her movement was sharply arrested by a pair of soft but expertly tied ropes around her wrists. She was tied spread-eagled to a comfortable bed, stripped down to her shift and secured at ankle and wrist. Worse, whoever had tied her had known exactly the right way to do it: no matter how she twisted, she couldn¡¯t get her fingertips in contact with rope at all. She was utterly trapped, utterly vulnerable¡­


    ¡­And there was no little rubber pellet in the back of her mouth.


    Mari Pelton smiled sadly at her. ¡°Sorry, darling. We took that nasty bit of medicine and got rid of it.¡± She stroked Adrey¡¯s arm. ¡°You¡¯re far too lovely to go throwing your life away like that.¡±


    Adrey stared up at her and said nothing. Shit. Shit shit shit, how had she been so stupid? She¡¯d known the dangers of underestimating these two, known they were damn dangerous. Her instincts had been screaming at her to flee the instant Mari had started coming on to her so hard, but she¡¯d overruled them, and now she was¡­


    She was fucked. The only two fates ahead of her were death or Encirclement. After whatever the Peltons had planned for her. The bastards had even set up a mannequin in the corner of the room with her clothes on it, and her knives and guns on display on a low table beside it. The tools that should have prevented this and could allow her to escape, cruelly on display exactly where she could see them¡­but they may as well be on another earthmote. It was a move calculated to drive home just how hopeless her situation was and how completely she had failed.


    Despite all her years of preparation, training and mentally steeling herself for this¡­when it came down to it, Adrey trembled.


    Mari saw her fear, and did something unexpected: she sighed, as though the sight of it truly upset her. ¡°Oh, I know,¡± she said, softly. ¡°You¡¯re a fighter aren¡¯t you, my love? All those nasty nasty knives we found strapped to you¡­but you¡¯re not ready for this, are you?¡±


    Adrey summoned up a glare, but she may as well have been scowling at the weather. Mari just continued to pet her like she was an irate cat, gentle and tender but keeping her fingers out of biting or clawing range.


    ¡°Let me tell you something,¡± she said. ¡°Kal is¡­Kal is a brute. I married a nasty piece of work, my dear Adrey. But he¡¯s terribly patient, too. He knows just how to humiliate you and hurt you in the ways you can¡¯t stand. You won¡¯t be able to hold out, and you know it.¡±


    She leaned down a little closer while futile tears prickled Adrey¡¯s eyes. ¡°I¡¯d hate to hear you going through that,¡± she lied. ¡°So I¡¯m the easier option. I¡¯ll make all the pain and humiliation go away. I¡¯ll look after you. If we keep it up long enough, you¡¯ll come to love me. And I¡¯ll love you too¡­all I ask in return is that there be no secrets between us, nor any angry words.¡±


    She stooped down low until she was practically lying on Adrey, her face not quite close enough to bite or headbutt, but close enough to suggest intimacy. ¡°I¡¯ll even tell you the truth of Kal and me, if you earn it. Everything you want to know. All you have to do to earn it, is be a good girl. Can you do that for me?¡±


    Adrey couldn¡¯t bring herself to speak. Part of her wanted to spit in the beautiful bitch¡¯s face, to curse and savage her with words. The coldly rational part knew that Mari was right and that she¡¯d never endure long under torture. Nobody could. Her fear tempted her to submit right away.


    Her hope held her back. The Network knew where she was. They¡¯d rescue her. She just had to hold out. Just for a little while.


    Please, Crowns and Heralds, let it be only a little while¡­


    She turned her face away, and remained silent.


    Mari watched her for a moment, then sighed and rose to her feet. ¡°The difficult way it is, then. Not that I expected anything else...when you¡¯re ready for the easy way, just call for me. Call for mistress.¡±


    She headed for the door. As she opened it, her husband entered the room. Kal Pelton was stripped to the waist, showing off the round pugilistic hardness of a truly strong body, and the dark, intense eyes of a man who loved nothing more than the sound of screaming and pleading. Mari stretched up to kiss him, and whispered something that Adrey couldn¡¯t quite catch. But she did catch the equally sadistic sparkle in those grey eyes, and knew she¡¯d have had to endure this no matter what.


    She screwed her eyes shut, wept futile tears, and waited for the torture to start.


    Mari was right.


    It was far, far worse than she could take.


    <hr>


    <blockquote>


    ¡°I remember the ribbons on Mr. Michely¡¯s door, when he was murdered. The constabulary set ¡®em up, wouldn¡¯t let no-one in or out until they¡¯d ¡®ad a good look. They ¡®ung yellow ribbons around the door, to warn folks off. That was, oh, thirty years ago now. Never saw those yellow ribbons again until the night the duchess was chased out. That was eight years ago. Now¡­now they¡¯re everywhere. An¡¯ now I¡¯ve got to wonderin¡¯ if I shouldn¡¯t head out to the countryside sometime afore there¡¯s ribbons ¡®angin¡¯ around my doors an¡¯ windows too¡­¡± ¡ªOverheard in the Bag and Sail, Dockerlands, Auldenheigh


    </blockquote>


    <h2>Sitting down to tea</h2>


    Park End, Auldenheigh, Enerlend 09.06.03.12.10


    Mister Yulan Harrow had once been Lord Harrow of Whimsgate, before the regime change. Apparently, the penalty for speaking in support of the rightful Duchess was the stripping of one¡¯s titles¡­though mercifully, by the time the rot had penetrated deep enough into the judiciary to enable stripping of lands and assets as well, Yulan had met some very clever friends who had helped him put his wealth beyond their reach.


    Now, his job was to sit quietly and pretend to have learned his lesson, while messages and men passed through his modest townhouse in Park End, ostensibly doing things like delivering onions and cleaning the windows.


    Yulan didn¡¯t read them. He didn¡¯t need to read them, they weren¡¯t for his eyes, and what he didn¡¯t know couldn¡¯t get anyone else killed. But he¡¯d come to learn when a message passing through his station was an urgent or desperate one, and the one that had just passed through had the young lad who¡¯d dropped it off in a cold sweat. Something bad was happening, or had happened.


    The message had moved on quickly, by whatever hidden mechanisms the network had for identifying when they should. Then, an hour later, another message came back and moved through with equal alacrity.


    Yulan knew he shouldn¡¯t pay attention to such things, that him even being aware of the correspondence passing through was a potential breach. But the Network were fighting for Auldenheigh¡¯s soul and freedom, and though his part in that fight was to do effectively nothing more than be a man of property¡­he couldn¡¯t help being fascinated, and afraid for them.


    By lunchtime, there was no hiding that something was amiss. The new, huge airships growling low over the city, the patrols of Clear Skies guildsmen suddenly marching in the streets, the flurry of messages, all pointed to something big happening.


    Just before teatime, the messages abruptly ceased, and there was no further activity all afternoon or evening. Yulan could only guess that somebody important in the Network thought his station might be under surveillance and so had halted or redirected all traffic to try and throw off suspicion. It had happened before.


    He took dinner with his wife and son, and they studiously and dutifully avoided the entire subject, talking instead about such mundanities as what these latest Guild arrivals would do to their investment portfolio, whether the weather would allow a pleasant stroll around the park after tea, and tomorrow¡¯s game between the Park End Rounders Club and Heightown.


    The weather being deemed good enough, they took a late afternoon constitutional, but Yulan couldn¡¯t shake an awkward feeling of unease that chased him all the way around the duck pond. Curfew was at nightfall, and they had taken their walk a little late, so perhaps that was it. Stil¡­there was one moment when he turned around to cajole his son into picking up his pace, and¡­he wasn¡¯t sure of it, not at all. But there was very briefly the sense of a shadow where no shadow should have been, among the trees.


    He narrowed his eyes, trying to find it again, but there was nothing out of place. In fact, everything looked so normal that he would ordinarily have dismissed it as just some strange paranoid fantasy brought on by the unusual circumstances of the day. Except¡­


    Except the faceless, nameless man who¡¯d first recruited him into helping the Network had given him some advice, and among them was to trust his instincts. ¡°If¡¯n you feel in danger, then ¡®yer in danger,¡± he¡¯d said. And Yulan did indeed feel endangered.


    He sped his family home with words of encouragement, fairly dragging them at a brisk march.


    To his surprise, his valet didn¡¯t open the door for them when they got back. Gleaves would normally have anticipated their return and welcomed them home, but this time Yulan had to open his own door with his own keys.


    ¡°Gleaves, old man. Not like you to leave us on the doorstep!¡± he called, hanging up his coat.


    Silence. Now that was peculiar, and enough to solidify Yulan¡¯s paranoia into suspicion. Rather than hang up his cane, therefore, he hefted it in his hand and waved Mellie and Petter to stay by the door as he¡­what? Snuck forward into his own house? Ridiculous!


    But his fears turned out to be entirely justified. He pushed open the parlor door only to stiffen at a stark, hot, coppery stench. He¡¯d never smelled blood before, but that was the only thing it could be: there was a lake of the stuff in the middle of the room, spreading from the crumpled body of his housemaid, Hettie. The poor girl¡¯s neck had been sliced through down to the bone and she¡¯d been left where she fell, her arm still looped through the firewood basket. Her face had settled into an expression of pitiable surprise, as though she couldn¡¯t quite believe what had happened, and her eyes transfixed Yulan for a moment. Long enough for him to pause in the doorway.


    Long enough for Mellie to see, and to shriek.


    That seemed to be the signal for them to come out of the woodwork. Figures he could have sworn hadn¡¯t been there a second ago seemed to just emerge, as though they¡¯d been standing there all along but somehow disguised just the same hue and texture as the wallpaper behind them.


    They were elves. Naked elves, their skin the same grey-white as cold ashes, their hair and eyes as dark as ink. They were expressionless, neither cruel nor cold nor even disinterested. The look they gave Yulan and his family was, at most, the same as a factory worker might give to the tools and raw materials he worked with every day.


    They killed Petter first. There was a gurgle, and a mother¡¯s wail of loss and anguish behind him, and Yulan turned in time to look in his son¡¯s eyes as the elf finished the single surgical stroke that all but beheaded the lad. Petter¡¯s eyes, wide with agony and terror, fluttered then went dull before his limp body collapsed to the tiles.


    Yulan dropped his walking stick in grief and shock, and one of the coats hanging behind Mellie stepped forward. The elf¡¯s skin shimmered and changed, shedding the texture of worsted wool and becoming smooth and pale even as it drove its dagger into his beloved wife¡¯s graceful throat.


    Something struck him hard in the back. Something that drove the air out of his lungs, bringing up an acrid, bitter mouthful of fluid as he coughed.


    He collapsed, landing next to his son¡¯s corpse. Mellie fell on top of him, gurgling and twitching her last. He tried to hold her, to comfort her, but his arms wouldn¡¯t work. Nor would his neck. He couldn¡¯t hold his head up. Couldn¡¯t look at anything. Couldn¡¯t¡­


    Couldn¡¯t¡­


    The elves walked away, and didn¡¯t even bother to watch him die.


    <hr>


    <blockquote>


    ¡°Some humans, lacking in introspection, like to pretend the Ordfey was uniquely an aberration of the Fey soul. Too often have I been sneered at or bit my tongue over acid comments about what ¡®my kind¡¯ were ¡®up to¡¯ during those years. I don¡¯t think it ever occurs to the speakers that whatever malady it was that made us do those terrible things lives in them as well. Humans have just the same cruel potential as elves. It is simply that history has never yet afforded them the opportunity to show it.¡± ¡ªAlmathir Nadhthrancan Obis, Reflections on the Past


    </blockquote>


    <h2>A basement</h2>


    Unknown location, Enerlend 09.06.03.12.10


    Adrey woke to a warm, damp cloth bathing her face. She stiffened, whimpered in pain, and remained still.


    It was¡­late. After nightfall. At some point during the endless torment she¡¯d found a shaft of light down the window that suggested they were in a cellar, and had focused on it until Kal had noticed and given her two blows to the face that swelled her eyes shut.


    Now she could see again, and the light had that silvery, night-time quality of having reflected off the distant snows of the Unbroken Mote. It haloed Mari Pelton¡¯s hair and gleamed through the soft peach-fuzz on her cheek and the elegant curve of her neck as she dipped the cloth in a bowl and tended Adrey¡¯s wounds some more.


    ¡°So beautiful¡­¡± her captor crooned. ¡°You are a marvel, do you know that? So fit and tall, and such a pretty face¡­don¡¯t worry, Kal hasn¡¯t damaged it too badly. You still have your gorgeous good looks¡­and your strength. My goodness, your strength. You held out so long before calling for me, darling. Longer than I would have believed¡­you¡¯re so brave.¡±


    Her words of praise should have revolted Adrey. It was a manipulation tactic, and she knew it¡­but right now, she didn¡¯t have the strength to resist even this cynical pantomime of kindness. Mari Pelton was setting herself up as Adrey¡¯s escape from torment, as the shining beacon she could always turn to, and it was going to work. It already had worked, in the moment when Adrey¡¯s courage had finally failed and she¡¯d cried out for ¡®mistress¡¯ to come and save her.


    She was too tired to feel sick and ashamed of herself.


    Mari continued to bathe her for a minute, then spoke softly. Her voice was low, melodic, gentle, soothing, and quite wonderful. ¡°I promised you tit for tat earlier, didn¡¯t I? Well, you¡¯ve been a good brave girl, so I¡¯ll share a secret you¡¯ll be glad of. Because right now, I imagine you think you¡¯ll be off to the Circle once this is over, don¡¯t you?¡±


    Adrey shivered, too afraid to speak. Not that. Please not that¡­


    ¡°Well, you won¡¯t, darling. I mean it and I promise it, you won¡¯t be Encircled.¡± Mari dared to stroke her face, rightly confident that Adrey wouldn¡¯t bite. Though the thought crossed Adrey¡¯s mind, she was just too spent, and she knew that if she did then she¡¯d just face more of Kal¡¯s inventive cruelty, and she couldn¡¯t. Not yet. ¡°In fact, we aren¡¯t going to tell that bastard Civorage about you at all. Him or anyone else.¡±


    Adrey looked her in the eye at last. She still couldn¡¯t speak. Words seemed to jam and gum in her throat rather than emerge.


    ¡°Shhh, my love. Don¡¯t try and speak yet. I¡¯m talking.¡± Mari¡¯s thumb brushed away a tear. ¡°You see, Kal and I aren¡¯t stupid. We know perfectly well that Civorage¡¯s plans will end with us Encircled as well. Does that sound like something we want? Speak.¡±


    ¡°¡­N¡­no¡­¡± Adrey croaked.


    Mari raised a finger. ¡°Ah?¡±


    ¡°¡­N-no¡­mistress.¡± It didn¡¯t mean anything, Adrey told herself. It was just a word, nothing more. There was no shame in playing to Mari¡¯s ego.


    Even so, it felt like a section of her crumbling walls had shed another brick.


    A pleased, somewhat triumphant smile plucked Mari¡¯s lips. ¡°Good girl. No, you¡¯re right. It¡¯s not what we want at all. Us or any of the other so-called ¡¯free collaborators.¡¯ As soon as Civorage gets his way, it¡¯s all over for us. Our goal is exactly what I told you earlier: a blissful future where the masses are happy with their lot, and the worthies are free to act without having to worry about parochial public opinion.¡±


    She stroked Adrey¡¯s hair. ¡°You¡¯re one of the worthies, my love. You¡¯ll be free, once it¡¯s over. We¡¯ll even let you go to live your life, if that¡¯s what you want in the end¡­¡±


    Lies. Lies and manipulation. Except¡­


    Mari laughed as though sensing her thoughts. ¡°Oh, clever girl. You¡¯ve seen it, haven¡¯t you? Now that I¡¯ve told you this, I can¡¯t turn you over to the Circle, or else Civorage will know what I said to you.¡± She bent down close until her breath was once again tickling Adrey¡¯s face. ¡°I haven¡¯t told you a single lie, beloved. Not one. And I never will. I know you don¡¯t believe it yet, but you can trust me.¡±


    Adrey just blinked at her. She had nothing to say. Her silence seemed to please Mari, though, who bent in close and kissed her brow.


    ¡°Sleep,¡± she whispered. ¡°Sleep, and get better. Tomorrow, I¡¯ll start asking questions.¡±


    For the first time, Adrey felt a flicker of magic in her captor¡¯s words. Her potion must have worn off. Her head swam, and she found her pain receding, her fatigue overwhelming her.


    Ellaenie¡ª!


    It was a last desperate plea for help before Mari¡¯s will overcame hers, and she fell into a deep sleep full of nightmares.


    <hr>


    <blockquote>


    Uniform and equipment for standard patrol duty: Wool greatcoat, dark blue, with high collar. Rank insignia are to be worn on the right breast and left sleeve. ¡°Brick kiln¡± peaked helmet, black. Constabulary badge and precinct number to be worn on front. Linen shirt, white. Wool vest, dark blue Good boots, black leather. Wooden truncheon Heighridge Lockworks .442 revolver Pouch containing a box of .442 revolver ammunition. Pouch containing no fewer than 6 charged magestones Pouch containing 2x clean rolled bandages Magestone bullseye lantern. Wrist shackles Leg irons Brass signal whistle ¡ªAuldenheigh constabulary regulations.


    </blockquote>


    <h2>Leadbanks</h2>


    Auldenheigh, Enerlend, Garanhir 09.06.03.12.10


    Constables had a whole language of different knocks. There was the soft knock for delivering bad news, the firm but polite knock for responding to a report, the firm but impolite knock for when they could hear raised voices inside¡­


    This knock promised that the next one would be much louder and made with a battering ram if the door wasn¡¯t opened immediately. It involved the pommel of Jed¡¯s truncheon, left dents in the wood, and was accompanied by a commanding cry of ¡°Constabulary! Open in the name of the Duke!¡±


    It worked. The door was opened hastily by a balding man in the garb of a valet or butler, whose astounded glance took in the fact that two whole squads of constables were on the doorstep.


    He grew even more astounded when the lads immediately barged past him and into the property.


    ¡°I¡ªI say, you can¡¯t just¡ª!¡±


    ¡°You the butler?¡± Bothroyd asked him, entering after his men as they fanned out through the house.


    ¡°Uh, yes. My name is Elston. And y¡ª?¡±


    ¡°We ¡®ave it on good authority a wanted terrorist was spotted enterin¡¯ this address earlier today. Adrey Mossjoy. I¡¯ve a warrant for ¡®er arrest.¡± Bothroyd held it up. The document was genuine.


    ¡°I-I¡ª¡± Elston squeaked.


    One of the lads appeared at the top of the stairs. ¡°Nobody ¡®ome, Sarge!¡±


    ¡°What?¡± Bothroyd pushed past the stammering butler and glared up at him. ¡°You¡¯re sure?¡±


    ¡°Jus¡¯ the maids an¡¯ the butler, Serjant. ¡®Ouse is clear.¡±


    Bothroyd rounded on Elston. ¡°You! Where¡¯s ¡®yer employers at?¡±


    ¡°They, ah, they left this lunchtime!¡± Elston cleared his throat and recovered his poise somewhat.


    ¡°They ¡®ad a guest?¡±


    ¡°Yes! Miss Bannant, a friend of Madame¡¯s¡ªare you saying she was actually¡ª?¡±


    ¡°Where did they go?¡± Bothroyd interrupted him with a snarl.


    ¡°I, well, I don¡¯t quite know. They just went out!¡±


    ¡°¡¯They just went out?¡¯ You¡¯re their bloody butler, it¡¯s your job to arrange transport and that, in¡¯t it?¡±


    Elston simply opened and shut his mouth like a landed carp a couple of times, then shrugged and shook his head. Useless bugger. Bothroyd snarled and spun away from him to stalk through the house. There would be clues. Somewhere there would be clues¡ª


    ¡°Jed!¡± Coppicer¡¯s voice carried up from a door tucked away under the stairs, from which came up the familiar aroma of a cellar. Bothroyd trotted down stone steps into a cool, dry space filled with wine bottles and other such luxuries.


    ¡°What¡¯ve you got, Barry?¡± he asked, looking around.


    The words ¡°Back ¡®ere!¡± drifted from among the shelves and stacks. He followed it, and found Coppicer standing near a section of blank wall. Barry gestured at it. ¡°Notice owt?¡±


    Bothroyd frowned at him, then considered the wall closely. As he moved left and right, a slight cool breeze ruffled his mustache, and spurred by that evidence he took a closer look still and¡­


    Well, either the brickwork had suffered a surprising amount of cracking for a posh place, or those gaps in the mortar were deliberate.


    It took two minutes to find the device tucked away inside a fake steamer trunk: a handle which, when twisted and pulled, released the wall with a heavy clonk and allowed it to pivot open easily on its thick hinges.


    Jed stared, then looked back at the stairs to get his bearing, orienting this hidden passageway against the house, the line of the street, compared it to his mental map of the area¡­


    ¡°¡­Get your squad and take ¡®em ¡®round to the Rose and Crown on Peel Street,¡± he said. ¡°An¡¯ send my lads down to me.¡±


    ¡°Aye.¡± Barry marched off, nearly running. Moments after he¡¯d gone up, Bothroyd¡¯s squad came scrambling down the cellar steps, and gawked at the secret passage. Bothroyd had to admit, it was damn good work: somebody had dug a seven foot high tunnel under garden and street for a good two hundred yards or more, and left it properly braced and propped with a footing of good dry duckboards. Magestones glimmered on each support beam, illuminating the tunnel in stark blue-white. There was even an air vent in the ceiling, which presumably came up at a discreet spot in the property¡¯s garden, and at one point Bothroyd had to duck under a thick pipe which presumably took care of the sewerage.


    ¡°How bloody long did this take to make?¡± he wondered aloud.


    ¡°Couple of months at least,¡± One of the lads commented. Betker would know, Bothroyd reflected. The lad¡¯s family were builders and well-diggers.


    Sure enough, the tunnel terminated in a stone wall with a similar pattern of missing mortar, and another twist-and-pull device conveniently at hand-height. Just as Jed predicted, this end was the cool cellar of a pub, stacked high with beer barrels along one wall and empties along the other, and the ramp up to the yard above where wagons could easily load and unload cargo.


    Shit.


    Sure enough, though he did his due diligence and questioned the landlord, who admitted to taking a hefty payment from the Peltons to allow them to have this tunnel built into his cellar, part of the service they¡¯d paid the man for was to not pay any particular attention to their comings and goings. He acknowledged there had been a carriage sometime after lunchtime that wasn¡¯t one of his deliveries, but didn¡¯t know more than that.


    Jed pulled out every intimidating constable¡¯s trick he knew, making dark noises about what happened to people who aided and abetted terrorists and rebels against the Duke, and the man went suitable pale and volunteered everything he knew¡­


    But none of it was enough. The Peltons had known what they were doing, and had successfully snuck their prize out of their house right under the Network¡¯s noses.


    Defeated, he stood his men down. They¡¯d been outwitted by an inordinately well-prepared foe, and there was nothing more for him to do except hope and pray. If she¡¯d been delivered to the Circle already¡­


    ¡­Well, if she¡¯d been delivered to the Circle already, then he¡¯d already have been nabbed. So perhaps his hope and prayer that there was more going on had already been answered. Either way, events were now out of his control.


    Wherever she was, Adrey Mossjoy was just going to have to get herself out of trouble.


    <hr>


    <blockquote>


    Countries of page and oceans of ink have gone into the recounting of men at war. Monuments are built to their triumphs and victories, to the legacies of their regiments and knightly orders, and this is because men fight their wars in public, against other men, side-by-side and shoulder-to-shoulder with other men. They share their pain, their heroism, their loss and their triumphs. Male war is open, visible, and all-encompassing. There are fewer monuments to female struggle and strife, and the reason is simple: Women fight our battles in privacy, silence and intimacy¡­and above all, we fight alone. ¡ªAdelie Davenroyd-Asten, A Woman¡¯s War.


    </blockquote>


    <h2>Imprisoned in a cellar</h2>


    Unknown location, Enerlend 09.06.03.12.11


    Adrey woke to a slap in the face, and lurched directly from a sleeping nightmare to a waking one.


    Kal Pelton sneered down at her, and backhanded the other side of her face for good measure before she could recover her wits enough to say anything, or even really think anything. The blow drove all thought out of Adrey¡¯s head, left her dizzy and on the very edge of unconsciousness, so that she could offer no resistance or even complaint as he released her bonds, dragged her from the bed, and shackled her to a framework of steel pipes against the wall. She dangled from it, her legs still too rubbery and weak to hold her up, when the first blow slashed across her back out of nowhere, the whip-crack as loud as a rifle shot in the confines of the cellar. She shrieked, writhed and pulled at the frame in futile panic, already knowing this would be more than she could endure¡­and she was proven right.


    Thus commenced an eternity of pain.


    There was nothing he wanted from her other than to humiliate and hurt her, and so he did, relentlessly and inventively and in ways designed to utterly degrade her¡­though if there was a small, detached place in her mind that managed to remain thoughtful throughout, it noted that all he did was inflict pain, and though this necessarily involved violations she would see him dead for, and though his eyes shone with unmistakable pleasure at her cries of agony, it seemed as though that was sufficient for him. She¡¯d expected him to rape her, but he hadn¡¯t. At least, not yet.


    Was he saving that for later?


    It went on for¡­forever. Time lost all meaning. There was no rhythm, no way of marking time. There were only torments, and the brief intervals between torments when he was preparing a different one. Some were obvious and brutish, the lash and the cane and the blade.


    Others were subtler¡­and worse. The worst were the needles. Such tiny things, but when he clamped her foot securely in place and inserted one slowly under a toenail¡­


    It broke her. Broke her utterly. She begged him to ask her a question, any question, she would have answered truthfully just to make it stop, but he never did. He never gave her any instructions at all. He simply found ways to make her shriek then whimper, scream then plead, sob then wail until her voice was a raw, rasping thing that contributed to the tapestry of pain with every ragged breath¡­until suddenly he was done with her, as though abruptly disinterested. He left her weeping and shattered in the frame, and strode out of the room with his bag of tools, having never uttered a single word the entire time. Adrey, still half-lost in the delirium of torture, couldn¡¯t remember whether she¡¯d cried out for Mistress or not.


    As soon as the door clicked shut, though, it seemed to trigger something in her. Some instinct, some core of iron recognized this was the first chance she¡¯d been given to actually assess her predicament, and that she couldn¡¯t afford to waste it.


    On that pale thought, she pulled herself together and straightened as best she could. Even though agony was still flitting around her limbs, even though she was by now utterly filthy and wretched, and even though the largest part of her wanted to just hang abjectly from the frame and weep, she clenched her teeth, choked down her misery, wrenched some focus into her mind, and took stock*.*


    She was battered, but quickly realized that for the moment her injuries were superficial. That seemed important. Kal, aparently, bruised but never broke, and though he¡¯d caned her, whipped her, cut her with knives and stuck her with needles, the wounds had already clotted over. His hallmark seemed to be extracting the maximum of pain for the minimum of actual permanent damage*¡­*


    She heard a thump from the floor above. Then some more thumps and clatters. A pause, followed by yet another thump, which became¡­rhythmic.


    She turned her head and her stomach heaved, too empty to properly vomit.


    Escape. She¡¯d have to do it herself. The Blackdrake Network had known where she was going and what she was doing, so the fact they hadn¡¯t rescued her yet said they couldn¡¯t. Adrey guessed she must have been moved covertly while she was drugged, somehow. Which meant she needed to escape by herself, one way or the other.


    So think. Ignore the hateful sound of vigorous rutting from upstairs, and think. What did she have to her advantage? What could she use from this vulnerable position?


    Well. She had something they wanted. But they were going to drag that out of her no matter what. Adrey wasn¡¯t stupid enough to believe she¡¯d last long under a routine like this. Soon, Mari would come and bathe her wounds and speak kindly to her and give her tender love and affection in equal proportion to Kal¡¯s cruelty, then¡­repeat. Over and over, as many times as needed. It wasn¡¯t a matter of whether she would break, only a matter of when.


    Already, the thought of Mari coming to soothe her felt welcome, despite knowing full well that Mari was just as much the architect of her pain and humiliation as Kal, and enjoyed it just as much as her husband if the loud feminine moans from upstairs were any indication¡­


    Except¡­No. No, that wasn¡¯t quite it. Mari certainly did have that malicious sadism in her, but more than that she clearly enjoyed the seduction. She enjoyed the power she¡¯d gain over Adrey by becoming her lifeline. What Mari was expecting to get out of this, besides the information she¡¯d yet to actually ask for, was that Adrey would come to be pathetically grateful and obedient to her. She¡¯d as good as said it already: she wanted Adrey¡¯s love and gratitude. She wanted Adrey to become her pathetic, grovelling, obedient pet.


    Adrey shivered at a loud cry of release from upstairs, hating them, and hating even more the germ of a plan that was starting to unfold in her mind. It was detestable, loathsome, possibly even exactly what they expected her to do, but it was the only thing she could think of, the only faint glimmer of hope she could see. She had nothing to give them but what they wanted¡­


    ¡­So she would give them what they wanted.

 Chapter 21: Agony

    <blockquote>


    How fortunate we are that the Ordfey is now confined to ancient history, and that humankind, by dint of our population, will forevermore have the power to keep the cruelty of elves in check! But let us not delude ourselves, dear reader: the cruelty of elves is also the cruelty of men. We are capable of just the same wickedness. ¡ªDenrick Roth, Elves


    </blockquote>


    <h2>A moment of mercy</h2>


    Cellar of an unknown address 09.06.03.12.11


    Adrey couldn¡¯t decide whether what she was feeling was pain or pleasure.


    On the one hand, the bathwater was only just on the right side of poaching hot, and the salts, soaps and oils dissolved within it cut into her wounds like wet fire. She actually shrieked a little as she was forced to sit down, unable to lift herself back out again thanks to the way her wrists were shackled to the bath¡¯s handgrips.


    On the other hand, after several seconds of breathing through clenched teeth, the torment dissolved away and swirled off her just as though the thin film of her own dried blood that coated her skin was the very carrier of pain, and in being washed away it balmed her injuries as well.


    And then there was the warm, soft, slick, soapy nearness of Mari Pelton, whose solution to bathing her prisoner, apparently, was to disrobe and step into the bath with her so she could cuddle up close and attend to every inch of Adrey¡¯s abused body as though they were the oldest and most intimate of friends. Adrey couldn¡¯t decide whether her touch and calculated eroticism were revolting or¡­


    No. No, they were revolting. She had to hold on to that fact. She had to remember that this was her enemy, and the orchestrator of her tortures, even though a confused, desperate and starving part of her wanted to turn into the ample embrace of Mari¡¯s bosom and weep for comfort.


    She knew what would happen if she did. Mari would reward her with kindness and compassion and warm words and comforts and Adrey would be spared from torture for a time. That was the game: submit and take refuge in Mari, and there would be no pain. Resist her and cleave to her loyalties to the Blackdrake Network and to Ellaenie, and there would be more pain than Adrey could endure¡­and then Mari would be there on the far side of it to tempt her again. And again, and again, until she inevitably broke.


    Adrey had endured the cycle twice now. Already, the thought of a third session with Mari¡¯s husband Kal lit a horrible cold inferno of dread in her belly.


    She sighed and whimpered as Mari delicately massaged healing balms and oils into her back. She¡¯d bear the whip-scars for the rest of her life, Adrey knew. Farewell, low-backed dresses¡­


    The thought was so absurd, it almost made her cough up a black laugh despite her situation. Mari certainly noticed.


    ¡°Steel for your thoughts, beloved?¡± she purred, and Adrey shivered again.


    The terrifying truth was¡­she had already felt the stirrings of a powerful attraction to Mari Pelton right from the moment they first met. Adrey had never bothered to look closely at that side of herself before: she was a noblewoman, the countess of Whitcairn. She would, had things not turned out as they did, have found a suitable husband to secure both their estates with heirs. There was no point in being enticed by women, when men were beautiful enough, handsome enough, fun enough and exciting enough anyway.


    But enticed she was. It had always been there, like the one dancer in the chorus line who still managed to draw the eye so that everyone knew they were destined to be prima donna. And now, Mari Pelton had somehow identified that flaw in Adrey¡¯s armor and was remorselessly pouring herself into it.


    ¡°I was just¡­imagining myself in a backless gown¡­¡± Adrey admitted, too exhausted to try and say anything but the truth. Inadequate sleep and the exertion of being tortured were already combining to leave her quite adrift in her own head, and she hadn¡¯t eaten in¡­well, more than a day, now. A day and a half?


    Mari kissed the side of her neck. ¡°You¡¯ll look gorgeous in one.¡±


    ¡°My back¡¯s all¡ª¡±


    ¡°Your back is beautiful, beloved.¡± Mari¡¯s fingers walked up Adrey¡¯s spine, sending confused jolts ahead of them. Then she leaned forward and kissed one of the wounds. ¡°You¡¯ve got our mark on you now. Our mark of ownership.¡±


    Adrey trembled. Not yet, she reminded herself. Too early. She was going to have to endure much more pain and humiliation at Kal¡¯s hands before the time was right to exploit Mari¡¯s greed. Move too early, and Mari would suspect the ploy.


    ¡­Move too late, and it might not be a ploy at all.


    ¡°Ownership,¡± she repeated hollowly.


    ¡°Oh yes. You¡¯ll look quite exquisite at our parties, pet. We¡¯ll show off your stripes, and parade you around in a collar so everyone will know, you¡¯re ours.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll fucking kill you first,¡± Adrey promised, spurred into snarling.


    Mari tutted. ¡°Aww¡­bad girl. You haven¡¯t learned your manners yet.¡± There was not even a mote of malice or vindictiveness in her words, just loving reprimand. ¡°Kal will want to¡­correct that. But I can still talk him down if you give me some small truth instead.¡±


    Adrey didn¡¯t reply.


    ¡°¡­Something harmless, dear. We know Ellaenie Banmor and Gilber Drevin both write into the city to contact agents in their spy network. We know this¡­who else writes in?¡±


    Adrey remained silent.


    ¡°Kal has been talking about using fire on you, beloved.¡± Mari exerted some magic, and Adrey felt some of her wounds healing rapidly under a tide of cool, soothing magical power. ¡°Trust me, you won¡¯t endure the branding iron.¡±


    Adrey trembled, and couldn¡¯t hold back a sob of genuine terror that ran down her cheeks and dripped into the ruddy bathwater. But she remained silent. Her only hope, her only hope, lay in holding out long enough for them to buy her eventual apparent capitulation without question. Behind her, Mari sighed and stopped massaging.


    ¡°Well, you wouldn¡¯t be so fascinating if you broke easily,¡± she acknowledged. ¡°You¡¯re very tough, dear Adrey. Much tougher than we thought you would be. Kal thought you¡¯d break after just the first session with him.¡±


    ¡°¡­Have you done this before?¡± Adrey asked, buying some time. Any minute now, she knew, Mari was going to rise from the bath and leave her to Kal¡¯s utter lack of mercies.


    Mari laughed softly, and kissed the back of her neck again. ¡°I ask the questions, darling.¡±


    ¡°But you have,¡± Adrey pressed.


    Mari¡¯s response was to sigh, then quite aruptly grab Adrey¡¯s head and pull it back sharply. The motion yanked Adrey¡¯s wrists hard against her handcuffs, and she gasped in pain and shock. Mari thrust a small glass bottle between her lips and tipped a liquid into Adrey¡¯s mouth that tasted overpoweringly of bitter mustard. The taste made Adrey gag, and she tried to cough and spit it out, but Mari clamped a hand over her mouth and throat and held her tight. Adrey kicked and writhed, straining furiously against her bonds, but it was hopeless. She was too weakened by torture and deprivation, too well restrained, and Mari seemed surprisingly strong as she pinced Adrey¡¯s nose shut, completely shutting off her air.


    Adrey tried to shriek and curse at her, tried to bite, but Mari¡¯s other hand held her jaw shut. A burning commenced in her chest, the terrible fire of lungs yearning to take a new breath as the last one was burned away by exertion. Her rage and defiance turned to fear in an instant, then crashed into full panic. Her thrashing legs churned the bathwater and flung it all around the room, one of the shackles bit into her so hard it drew blood¡ª


    And she swallowed. She couldn¡¯t not.


    The bitter brew burned as it went down, and Adrey wondered if this was how she died, if her questions and defiance had pushed Mari past the point of giving up on her and she¡¯d opted instead to just poison her and have done. For long seconds she went tense, even as Mari took her hand away and let her gasp for breath. At any moment, she expected to feel hideous painful cramps in her stomach, or a sense of dizziness, or¡­or however it felt when one died of poison.


    But nothing much seemed to happen. The potion settled queasily in her stomach, and she cleared her throat to try and hack away the vile aftertaste, but other than that¡­


    Mari caressed her face. ¡°There. Silly girl. Afraid of a little medicine?¡±


    Adrey looked her in the eye for the first time all night. Her sparkling brown eyes, alive with playful concern and tender forebearance. Very¡­very beautiful eyes¡­.


    No. No! Drugs. Drugs and pain. Don¡¯t trust her. Can¡¯t trust her!


    The plan. She could¡­stick to the plan. Let Mari think she¡¯d¡­she¡¯d won¡­


    Too early! Drugged! Not now!


    She could¡­


    Can¡¯t!


    She¡­


    She blinked slowly. ¡°¡­No¡­Mistress¡­¡±


    Mari¡¯s eyes filled with triumph. ¡°Good girl..¡±


    Praise felt good. Mari¡¯s wet, soft body felt good against her skin. The bath felt good. Adrey¡¯s inner voice fell silent, and she smiled stupidly at the beautiful woman who was being so kind to her.


    ¡°Good girl,¡± Mari whispered again, stroking her hair and kissing her brow, and Adrey felt¡­amazing.


    She relaxed into Mari¡¯s bosom, and for a time forgot the pain, and all that would come tomorrow.


    <hr>


    <blockquote>


    Sir. I note that Sir Arnand Bole has published the latest in his long-running and successful series of books recounting the true stories of infamous murders from all across Garanhir. I do not know which disturbs me more about this series: the lavish detail with which Sir Arnand recounts such brutal events, or the fact that the general public seem to lap it up, especially women. I do not know what morbid beast lurks in the feminine psyche that such grotesque material fascinates them so, but I know many otherwise sweet and blameless ladies who can gossip about nothing else but the various grisly murders they have read in his books. It is most unseemly, and I encourage your readers to boycott this latest release. ¡ªLetter to the editor, printed in the Auldenheigh Post newspaper.


    </blockquote>


    <h2>Murder Scene</h2>


    Park End, Auldenheigh 09.03.03.12.12


    ¡°It¡¯s murder, sarge.¡±


    Bothroyd didn¡¯t need telling that, he could smell it.


    He hadn¡¯t slept well last night, despite his best efforts and those of his wife Effie plus a large stiff drink. Too many fears and worries had haunted his mind, fearing for the Countess, and his city, and his squad, his friends, the Network¡­


    What fitful winks he¡¯d grabbed had been nightmarish. So when the runner had come for him before dawn, he¡¯d climbed out of bed, kissed Effie and told her he loved her, and got back to work. He may be running on thick black coffee and grim bloody-mindedness, but by the Hounds he¡¯d see this whole business through one way or another.


    He hadn¡¯t been expecting to attend a murder in Park End, though. Even before he was outside its gated and railed front garden, he could smell the loathsome cocktail of blood, voided bowels and the early onset of rot which together spoke to an experienced man of violent death.


    It was certainly bad enough to keep the crowd away. They were lingering a ways down the street. The constable guarding the front gate looked wan and restless.


    ¡°Arright. Victim?¡±


    ¡°Three victims that we¡¯ve seen, prob¡¯ly five. The Harrow family, father, mother an¡¯ son. They ¡®ad a butler an¡¯ scullery made too, but we can¡¯t get in through th¡¯ front door wi¡¯out disturbing the crime scene.¡± The constable glanced over his shoulder, and even though Bothroyd knew him to be a years-long veteran, distress still flashed across his face. ¡°¡­¡¯tis grim in there, sarge.¡±


    Bothroyd nodded. ¡°Go on an¡¯ keep the crowd away,¡± he said, kindly. The younger man nodded and marched off as quick as he could without undermining the dignity of the uniform.


    Bothroyd took a second to steel himself, then opened the front door.


    The constable hadn¡¯t been exaggerating. Blood wasn¡¯t a pleasant substance at the best of times, and three people¡¯s worth had spilled across the tiles in the entryway, some¡­hmm¡­ten hours ago.


    The boy was closest to the door. Lad might just have been old enough to call himself an adult, by law¡­maybe. Mrs. Harrow lay facing him, her own face not peaceful, but still faintly wearing the terrible anguish of a woman who¡¯d just watched her child die.


    Bothroyd put it out of his mind. Much as he¡¯d have liked to close the poor thing¡¯s eyes and settle her face, that wasn¡¯t his role. Instead, he took a second to survey the bloody scene rather than tromp straight in and ruin it with his bloody boots.


    He had seen many a slit throat before. There was a right way to do it and a wrong way, and the murderer in this case knew the right way. And they¡¯d used a blade as keen as glass, surgeon-sharp. Gruesome as their deaths were, neither mother nor son would have suffered long. They¡¯d been killed right, quick and as relatively painless as any knife kill could be. Was that mercy, or pragmatism?


    The real anomaly, though, was the footprints. Bare feet, which immediately stood out as strange. Rich families and working servants wore boots and shoes about the house, usually only taking them off for bathing or bedtime. And indeed, the Harrows were still booted and wearing their coats like they¡¯d come home from a walk in the park.


    Jed squatted to examine the nearest print. His knees protested, but like fuck was he going to kneel in this mess. He put his hand out and took the measure of the print with his thumb and index finger. The foot was narrow and long in proportion, and small. Dainty, even. The print was clearer toward the front, as though whoever left it had been resting their weight forward on the balls and toes.


    Thinking on it¡­he hadn¡¯t noted any such prints on the doorstep, nor the path. He retreated back out the front door and cast around, but sure enough the flagstones were unblemished. He frowned, then turned and looked up. The house was three storeys tall, built of the warm yellowish-white stone beloved of rich folk. It was a status symbol in this city to be able to afford to keep such stone clean and pale and unblemished, and yet above him, on the sill of an upper-storey window, he could make out a reddish smear. And another below the gabled dormer above it, right where a skilled second-storey man would consider to be the easiest route up the wall and onto the rooftops. And from there¡­


    He sighed and looked left and right. The street was a solid terrace of townhouses, running all the way to the park in one direction, and down to a dense tangle of buildings in the other. Someone on the rooftops could go a long way without having to come down.


    Further, if they could leap like an elf.


    A commotion among the crowd caught his attention. An elderly woman was pleading and wailing at the constables to let her through. Mother of one of the victims, most likely. The lads were doing a decent job of keeping calm, but he could see things were like to get emotional in short order. The crowd were restless.


    He ducked back inside the house, edged around the pool of congealed gore, and explored the rest of the house. Sure enough, he found the scullery maid and the butler, both just as dead as their employers and with similar cruel skill. The scullery and kitchen were full of more bloody bare waifish footprints.


    With a sigh, he unlocked the back door so the inspectors wouldn¡¯t have to traipse through the hallway to investigate these two poor buggers, and headed back outside. The crowd was definitely getting restless, and the lads needed more to give them than platitudes and assurances. He would have to do his best to soothe them.


    ¡­And try and forestall any trouble. Coppicer was right, a couple of suitable loudmouths and a heavy-handed approach to silencing them could turn anything into the spark that¡¯d light off the gunpowder. A mass murder would certainly do it.


    As he emerged onto the street, though, he saw there as more to it than loudmouths. A squad of men in the sky blue and cloud white livery of Clear Skies marines had marched in from somewhere, and were now setting up a cordon across the road, further from the crime scene than was strictly necessary, and belligerently ordering the onlookers further back.


    ¡°Th¡¯ bloody shades take it, what¡¯re are you fools playin¡¯ at?¡± he demanded of them as he marched up. Sure enough, the marines all rounded on him with narrowed eyes and fierce expressions.


    ¡°An¡¯ who¡¯re you, then, constable?¡± their leader demanded. Bothroyd¡¯s eye settled on the double stripes of a corporal, and he got up in the man¡¯s face.


    ¡°That would be Serjant. Y¡¯see this little ducal crown on me shoulder, lad?¡± he asked, quietly. ¡°That¡¯s the Big Hat. Means I¡¯m far enough above you that I get to shit in ¡®yer ¡®at an¡¯ you get to thank me. So stow the bloody attitude afore I get annoyed wi¡¯ ye.¡±


    The man scowled, but glanced left and right, saw the other constable glowering at him, and decided to pick his battles. ¡°¡­Jus¡¯ controllin¡¯ the crowd, Serjant,¡± he said, defiantly.


    ¡°By showin¡¯ up, pushin¡¯ ¡®em further back than¡¯s needed an¡¯ makin¡¯ threats when it¡¯s your bloody fault they¡¯re up close on your cordon? Shite work, lad. Pull your men up level wi¡¯ that gate there, an¡¯ all will be well.¡±


    ¡°My orders were¡ª¡±


    ¡°If you¡¯re about to tell me your orders was to set up too far forward, then either you¡¯re a bloody liar, or your superior¡¯s a bloody fool an¡¯ you shouldn¡¯t be listenin¡¯ to ¡®im,¡± Bothroyd interrupted him. ¡°Pull. Your men. Back.¡±


    There was a long, tense moment, during which the corporal¡¯s eyes narrowed to hateful slits¡­then relaxed into disingenuous acquiescence. ¡°¡­Aye aye, serjant.¡± He turned, beckoned sharply, and his squad retreated barely to the cordon limit Bothroyd had set.


    ¡°Cheeky cocksnoggers,¡± one of the constables muttered.


    Sure enough, the crowd relaxed as the marines sauntered away, but now they were looking expectantly at Bothroyd. He tucked his thumbs in his belt, straightened, and ran a level gaze over all of them, trying to gauge who was just an onlooker, who might be family or friends of the victims, who might be trouble.


    ¡°¡­My name is Serjant Jed Bothroyd,¡± he declared after a moment of expectant silence. ¡°I¡¯m not the inspector, they¡¯ve yet to arrive. A full statement will ¡®ave to wait until they¡¯ve ¡®ad time to conduct a proper investigation, but I can confirm the deaths o¡¯ Mr. an¡¯ Mrs. Harrow, their son, their butler an¡¯ their scullery maid.¡±


    A sigh ran through the crowd. Several people dotted here and there throughout it reacted with grief, turning away to collect their emotions, clutching tight to each other, a gasp and a sob¡­the old woman said ¡°Oh!¡± and sank to the ground, her face a mask of shock and despair. At a guess, Bothroyd reckoned she must be the scullery maid¡¯s mother.


    ¡°Is it murder, serjant?¡± Somebody called from the back.


    ¡°I¡¯m afraid it is,¡± Jed nodded, solemnly.


    ¡°Who?¡± Somebody else demanded. ¡°Who did it?¡± Several voices shouted in support of the query.


    ¡°I regret to report, the killers left no conclusive evidence o¡¯ their identity that I¡¯ve been able to see,¡± Bothroyd replied, neutrally and professionally. ¡°Per¡¯aps the inspectors¡¯ll find more¡¯n my ol¡¯ eyes can see at first glance. For the time being¡ª¡± he continued, directing his attention specifically to a couple of men who were clearly eager to advance past the cordon ¡°¡ªit¡¯s best if the ¡®ouse an¡¯ the victims are left undisturbed. That way, the investigation¡¯ll ¡®ave th¡¯ best chance o¡¯ findin¡¯ summat to bring the killers to justice.¡±


    ¡°You must know something!¡± a woman cried, wringing a handkerchief between gloved hands.


    ¡°If¡¯n I do or don¡¯t, ma¡¯am, I¡¯d rather not speak it aloud for fear the culprit¡¯s within earshot.¡± Bothroyd¡¯s words and tone were carefully pitched so that not even the most aggressive plant in the crowd could find something to incite them with.


    One of the men at the back tried regardless. ¡°Are you saying one of us did it?¡±


    Jed gave him a steady look, full of the promise that he¡¯d remember the young man¡¯s face, then blanked the question for the ridiculous barb it was. ¡°I appreciate some of you will want ¡®ta ¡®ead back to your homes, an¡¯ unless I¡¯m mistaken there¡¯s some among you as are close wi¡¯ the deceased. Those of you who want to get ¡®ome, I¡¯m sympathetic but trust me, you don¡¯t want to be too near right now. ¡®Tis not pleasant up past the cordon. My suggestion is, find a friend who¡¯ll put you up for the day. Friends an¡¯ relatives o¡¯ the victims¡­I¡¯ll talk wi¡¯ you as I¡¯m able.¡±


    It worked. He noted the troublemaker scowl at a few others and slink away from the back of the group, thwarted in their attempts to incite anger¡­for now. They¡¯d try later, Jed guessed.


    The inspectors arrived while Jed was doing his best to console the old woman, not that there was much consolation to give. The old girl was a widow, and the Harrows¡¯ maid had been her only child, her only kin in all the world. Jed had seen enough of life to know that this wound was a mortal one to her. Soon, there would be a sixth victim to this tragedy, though officially uncounted.


    He watched her go, said a small internal prayer for her, then turned to the inspectors.


    ¡°You took your bloody time,¡± he commented.


    Inspector Gunroy gave him a deeply tired look. ¡°It¡¯s a busy day, serjant.¡±


    ¡°¡­Busy how?¡±


    Gunroy gestured toward the house. ¡°There¡¯s six others like this, that I know of. More, I daresay.¡±


    ¡°Them elves ¡®ad a killin¡¯ spree last night,¡± Bothroyd muttered. Gunroy gave him a sharp look, then produced a small flask from his inside pocket and swigged a dram of whisky.


    ¡°You¡¯ve a sharp eye. You should have become an inspector.¡±


    ¡°Reckon I make a better serjant, sir¡­.what¡¯s linkin¡¯ these murders?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know yet. They seem to be random. A well-to-do family in Park End, an art seller in Long Oaks, a boarding house for middle-class ladies in Porterlands¡ª¡±


    ¡°What?!¡± Jed turned to face him, startled and suddenly ice-cold as all his blood drained into his boots. ¡°Which street?¡±


    ¡°Uh, Well Street.¡±


    ¡°Not Mistress Brooknetter¡¯s place?¡±


    ¡°The very same.¡±


    Fuck. The Network. Jed had no idea the Harrows had been involved, but he knew the art seller¡­.and Hatpin.


    Gunroy misread the dismay on his face. ¡°Did you¡­know her?¡±


    ¡°I know one of the lodgers¡­all dead?¡±


    ¡°Couldn¡¯t say. Nalesmith¡¯s handling that one. I¡¯m sorry, Serjant, I had no idea.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll¡­uh¡­I¡¯ll head down there, if¡¯n that¡¯s alright, Inspector.¡±


    ¡°Of course.¡±


    Jed turned and strode away, his mind whirling and turning over the possibilities. Had Adrey been Encircled? That seemed most likely, except¡­except Jed was fairly sure he knew what the Countess knew, and if he didn¡¯t know about the Harrows, then he was reasonably confident Adrey didn¡¯t know them either. And of course, she knew him, and elvish assassins had entirely failed to come for him and Effie in the night¡­


    Dammit, he didn¡¯t know enough. Not yet. And he rather suspected he didn¡¯t have enough time to discover more. He might have talked down a small group this morning, but by evening the whole city would be snarling over the murders, and if he was any judge those Clear Skies goons had orders to stir things up, and they¡¯d do it with malicious glee. And then¡­


    ¡­.And then things would be moving too fast to stop.


    He put his head down, turned his collar up as a grey rain started to fall, and forged ahead regardless.


    <hr>


    <blockquote>


    ¡°Whatever happens, firewood is destined either for ash or for rot. But who has ever cooked a meal on rot?¡± ¡ªYunei proverb, attributed to the Second Perfect Emperor


    </blockquote>


    <h2>Preparing for Change</h2>


    The Gate, Yunei Empire, Yonguitang Earthmote 09.06.03.12.12


    The Proper Way contained intricate rules for almost every conceivable circumstance. For instance, the lady of a city¡¯s lord, when appearing alongside him while he read an Imperial proclamation, was expected to wear her makeup a certain way. But, if she was appearing on her husband¡¯s behalf in his absence to deliver the proclamation herself, there was a subtly different etiquette.


    It was, frankly, absurd. But even with the divine impetus of the Crowns pushing change upon them, the Empire would never be inclined to change quickly. And so Di-Ha, even though she was tasked with speaking on her husband¡¯s behalf, must still do the Proper thing and symbolically stand behind him by speaking from behind a banner bearing his house crest.


    It was all very poetic. The positioning of man and woman in these ceremonies was traditional, but not without purpose. The man¡¯s place in front put him in a position of leadership, but also guardianship. His decisions led the family, but it was also his duty to be the one exposed to danger. The wife¡¯s place behind was a position of support, but also safety; it was her duty to faithfully be the foundation and steady footing on which he could rely, but also to be protected by him even at the cost of his life.


    So the ancient enlightened ones had written, anyway. They painted such a romantic ideal that Di-Ha rather suspected none of them had ever actually wed.


    Then again¡­she missed Deng-Nah terribly. In the circumstances, the Proper Way allowed her to once again enjoy the company of her friends whom she¡¯d appointed as her husband¡¯s mistress consorts, and so she at least did not have to endure loneliness in bed of a night. But as pleasant as Sumi¡¯s (entirely chaste) company in particular was, there was simply no substitute for being able to snuggle into her man in the cold depths of night.


    Truthfully, the most important thing the makeup did for her today was disguise her tiredness. As a noble lady, the care and nightly provision for her child was not, in theory, actually her duty¡­but what mother could ignore her own infant¡¯s cries? Even if all she did was go to check that all was well, the many interruptions per night did make her rest less restful.


    The makeup covered for that. When she considered herself in a mirror of silvered glass, Di-Ha had to acknowledge that one could not possibly tell that here was a sleep-deprived mother. She looked entirely Proper, being ethereal, as white as cloud and a serene as a still lake.


    Off in the wings, the ceremony¡¯s coordinator snapped his fan open then closed, giving the signal she had been waiting for. Di-Ha shuffled forward in tiny steps, the length of her stride constrained by the sewn hem of her robes, accepted the respectful bow of the assembled crowd, returned it, and knelt. A functionary scurried forward with the scroll and held it before her.


    She scanned its perfect calligraphy, then straightened her back, summoned her public voice, and read the declaration.


    ¡°By decree of His Most Enlightened Majesty, the Divine Emperor, the Refined One, Most Perfect Soul, True Master of the Proper Way, Inheritor of the Golden Palace, Resurrected One Hundred Times,¡± she read, aware that the Emperor had done her and all listeners a courtesy in requiring only the bare Proper minimum of his epithets and titles. ¡°This, his most humble and loyal servant Di-Ha, wife of Deng-Nah of the On Clan, Lord of the Gate and Emissary of the Court, reads the Imperial proclamation.¡±


    There was expectant silence. Rumour had spread all over the Empire since the Crowns themselves had intervened at court, and the actual content of the proclamation was not likely to be a surprise to anyone. But there was a difference between expecting something, and actually hearing it.


    ¡°The Gates of the Perfect Empire have remained shut for a thousand years!¡± she announced, focusing on giving her voice the correct balance of power and musicality. A man might roar or bellow such words, but a woman must enunciate them sweetly, almost sing them. This too was the Proper Way. ¡°Now, the world changes and we, the enlightened and proper children of Yunei the First Teacher, are tasked with doing our part not only for ourselves, but for all humankind.¡±


    The attendant rolled the scroll flawlessly in time with her words, so that the line she was reading and declaring was always in the middle. She made a note to commend him for his precision later.


    ¡°To that end! The great gates of our empire are to be opened, and trade and contact with those who dwell beyond is to commence at once! It is no longer criminal to speak with or to acknowledge those who bear the brand of the exile! Business may commence across the border, and citizens of our Empire who hold the rank of merchant of the third class **or higher may acquire foreign tools and airships if they are able! To leave the Empire¡¯s borders is no longer a crime of exile, and those who return from abroad will be welcomed home and their brow left unmarked!¡±


    The attendant continued to roll the scroll for her, and she continued to read, pitching each word, each note, for maximum clarity.


    ¡°It is to be understood that the former policy of isolation was wise and foresighted, as it has preserved our great people against a rot and evil that has spread across foreign lands! Yet it does not behove us to stand and watch this foe consume the world, lest it be our fate to be consumed last for the crime of inaction! It is Proper, upon seeing a distant threat, to march out and confront it! So we shall do, in the name of our future, in the name of the Divine Ones who made us, and in the name of the highest perfect good beyond them!¡±


    One last turn of the scroll, and she was at the end. ¡°Long live the Emperor! Long live the Empire! Long live the Children of Yunei!¡±


    The crowd, of course, dutifully took up chanting ¡¯long live the Emperor! Long live the Empire! Long live the Children of Yunei!¡¯ and continued it long after Di-Ha had risen, bowed, and retreated from the dais. She could still hear them as her palanquin bearers jogged through the streets back to the On family estate and her most honored guest.


    Lady Dragon was waiting for her in the Fire Gate garden, sitting regally beside the flame pit and reading, with Deng-Sho in her arms. She looked up as Di-Ha alighted from the palanquin and gave her the small smile of good friends, a gesture which rushed straight to Di-Ha¡¯s heart and filled it with warmth. But the fact was¡­she and the Golden River had become friends in the month since the Crowns appeared at court. Lady Dragon had even been present to hold her hand and reassure her through Deng-Sho¡¯s birth.


    It had been, as the Winter Queen had promised, an easy birth. Still an ordeal, of course, and Di-Ha¡¯s first time. Having the Herald there had helped immeasurably, even though she¡¯d felt entirely unworthy of such consideration. But it seemed Dragon had chosen to be her friend, and so friends they now were. Who could ask for better?


    ¡°Is he behaving?¡± she asked. It was amazing how quickly Shosho had changed in just a month. He¡¯d come into the world tiny and pink and wrinkled, and now he was round and fat and strong, with big bright eyes that locked on to her face and, after a second or two, creased in the biggest, brightest smile that just made her almost want to weep for how beautiful he was.


    Dragon handed him up to her with an indulgent smile. ¡°He has been a perfect gentleman,¡± she said.


    Di-Ha smiled and sat down to consider the book Dragon was reading. It was bound in the foreign style, its printed pages secured between two thick cover boards and the whole thing wrapped in stained green leather. It seemed a sensible way to do things, she thought. ¡°You are reading to him?¡±


    Dragon smiled and shook her head. ¡°He is far too young. I am reading for myself, and if he likes the sound of my voice, that is good.¡±


    ¡°What is it? I cannot read these words¡­¡±


    ¡°Poetry, of course.¡± Dragon smiled and indicated a slim ribbon that marked her progress through the book. ¡°They write rather good poetry in foreign lands, actually. Though, the rules and customs are very different of course.¡±


    ¡°Do you have a favourite?¡± Di-Ha asked, settling her son in her arms. He smiled at her, so she smiled back, waving her fingers and lightly touching his nose.


    ¡°How can one have only a single favourite?¡± Dragon asked, but she was smiling. She thought for a second. ¡°¡­This one seems apt,¡± she decided, and began to recite.


    ¡°The perfect tea is brewed with care.


    Select the perfect leafy tips, Follow the graceful ritual, Meditate on each step, Pour water at the ideal heat, Steep patiently until the gentle flavor blossoms, Serve in a lacquered bowl. This is care.


    Throw in a teabag. Spoon in sugar, Dump on boiling water, Splash in some milk, Mash the bag with the spoon until the brew tans, Serve in an old mug. This is careless.


    But make it for me out of love, And either way, the tea is perfect.¡±


    The language was unknown to Di-Ha, but somehow she understood the words through some magic of Dragon¡¯s doing which even conveyed subtle distinctions of meaning and intent that a straightforward translation might have missed.


    ¡°¡­What a peculiar sentiment,¡± she said, softly. ¡°Surely if you love someone, you should put your utmost into doing them a service in the Proper way?¡±


    ¡°Usually, perhaps. But which is more important, the gesture or the precision with which it is made?¡± Dragon¡¯s molten gold eyes had a twinkle in them.


    Di-Ha frowned. ¡°¡­What sort of people drink their tea with sugar and milk anyway? And what is a ¡®teabag¡¯?¡±


    Dragon laughed. ¡°In Enerlend, they use machines to chop black tea to a fine powder and package it in little paper bags, so it is quick and simple to brew a cup of tea at any time. The resulting drink is¡­barely acceptable, so they often sweeten it with milk and sugar to overcome its deficiencies.¡±


    Di-Ha pulled a face. ¡°These people really do need saving,¡± she said, and Dragon let out an unguarded giggle.


    ¡°Do not be so quick to judge them harshly,¡± she said, covering her mouth demurely. ¡°They may forego the Yunei virtue of patient dilligence, but in its place they have ambition and industry. They may not brew a Proper cup of tea¡­but they have wonders and delights of their own, I assure you.¡±


    ¡°You sound quite fond of them¡­¡± Di-Ha ventured.


    ¡°I am fond of all peoples. The children of Yunei are my chosen, the ones with the most special place in my heart, but why should that mean I cannot love them all? No matter their foibles.¡±


    ¡°¡­Perhaps the Golden River¡¯s heart has room enough in it for such love. Mine is¡­more limited in scope.¡± Di-Ha caressed her son¡¯s downy head.


    ¡°How often mortals underestimate their own capacity,¡± Lady Dragon replied, warmly.


    Di-Ha was about to ask her what she meant when Dragon looked up and away sharply, as though hearing the distant note of a signal horn. She rose to her feet, setting her book of poetry aside as she did so, and her expression turned grim. Di-Ha looked up to follow her gaze, and realized she was staring at Garanhir.


    ¡°My lady?¡±


    Dragon glanced back at her. ¡°It¡¯s started.¡±


    ¡°Already?¡±


    ¡°Not the war¡­something terrible is happening. Or, is about to happen. Something¡ª¡± Dragon¡¯s usually serene features creased in a moment of brief pain, then she took a step back and with a dull boom and a rush of hot air she was ascending, expanding, lengthening. Di-Ha covered her son¡¯s head to shield him from the hot gale that streamed off her as the Golden River took to the skies.


    In her head, parting words boomed with the force of a roar. Find your father-in-law. Tell him to be ready.


    ¡°I will!¡± Di-Ha called, and then Dragon¡¯s serpentine form was an undulating ribbon of gold in the distance, which dwindled at an incredible rate until the Herald was gone. Deng-Sho wriggled and protested in her arms, and she bounced him close until he settled, then passed him to his waiting nanny and marched off to go find Deng-Li.


    Apparently, things were moving quicker than expected.


    <hr>


    <h2>Broken</h2>


    Cellar of an unknown house 09.06.03.12.12


    When Kal came for Adrey, she wasn¡¯t asleep. She didn¡¯t respond to his hard slap across the face, nor utter a sound as he once again unshackled her and dragged her from the bed she was shackled to. The drug Mari had given her had worn off after only an hour or two, but the things she¡¯d done, and thought, and felt under its influence¡­


    Adrey¡¯s violation seemed complete. It wasn¡¯t enough for the Peltons to brutalize her body, they¡¯d gone and vandalized her mind as well.


    This time, Kal didn¡¯t extract a single scream from her. No matter what he did, no matter how inventive his tortures, Adrey just hung in the frame, too dry to weep and too broken to even protest as she was¡­worked on. Even the branding iron he pressed to the back of her neck¡ªa letter P which he spent several seconds brandishing in front of her face, waiting for her to show any recognition¡ªdidn¡¯t elicit anything more than a shudder and brief screwing-shut of her eyes as the heat seared away something precious inside her she¡¯d never get back.


    Adrey was beyond pain, now. It had no hold on her. It was just¡­a thing that was happening. She wasn¡¯t afraid of it any longer. She wasn¡¯t even afraid of dying. If Kal had promised to murder her, she would have just hung there and waited for it.


    He didn¡¯t. Nor did he get bored quickly. Instead, he prowled around to in front of her while the new burn was still steaming on the back of her neck, and looked her in the eye. Adrey didn¡¯t look back. Her gaze was on¡­nothing.


    For the first time, he spoke to her. ¡°¡­Hmm. I think you¡¯re ready to behave yourself. Aren¡¯t you, pet?¡±


    ¡°¡­Yes, master.¡± Adrey¡¯s voice came out in a dry, quiet mumble. She had no strength to put any life or passion into it. It was like talking in her sleep, in a dream.


    ¡°Tell me about your cover story. Where is your safehouse, and what name do you live under while you¡¯re there?¡±


    ¡°Miss Brooknetters¡¯ lodging house on Well Street, Porterside. They know me as Mrs. Adelia Rubb.¡±


    ¡°Who is your handler?¡±


    ¡°Skinner.¡±


    ¡°Tell me more.¡±


    ¡°The only name he ever gave me is Skinner. A thin man. Fifties. Has ¡®HIT HARD¡¯ tattooed on his knuckles. Missing the pinky of his right hand.¡±


    ¡°Other contacts?¡±


    ¡°Serjant Jed Bothroyd, of the Constabulary.¡±


    ¡°Everyone, Pet. Tell me everyone.¡±


    ¡°Mutt. A young lad, dark-skinned. Wears a mustache. He was my support runner. That¡¯s everyone.¡±


    And Sadie. But Adrey didn¡¯t give up Sadie. Sadie wasn¡¯t anyone, yet.


    Kal was nodding though. Clearly, he was satisfied. He gripped Adrey¡¯s chin and tilted her head up. ¡°Look me in the eye,¡± he commanded, and Adrey did so. They seemed to her like utterly pitiless holes in his face, rather than actual eyes. There was no human warmth in there. Just¡­satisfaction. He was looking at her like she was a horseshoe he¡¯d just finished beating into shape.


    And she felt like exactly that. She was too hollow inside now. Nothing mattered. In the end, it had been Mari¡¯s potion and the love she¡¯d felt, the love she¡¯d shown under its influence that finally broke Adrey¡¯s will.


    ¡°You know the way this works, now,¡± Kal told her. ¡°You¡¯re our pet. Say it.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m your pet, Master.¡± The words were automatic, unthinking. She didn¡¯t mean them. She didn¡¯t not mean them, either. They were just meaningless sounds, the right meaningless sounds. It was both true and a lie at the same time.


    ¡°Good pet. So long as you¡¯re nice and complaint like this, you¡¯ll get kindness. You understand that, don¡¯t you.¡±


    ¡°Yes, Master.¡±


    ¡°Yes indeed. Did you enjoy your bath with Mari earlier?¡±


    ¡°Yes, Master.¡± Crowns forgive her, but it was the truth.


    ¡°Would you like me to show you similar kindness?¡±


    ¡°Yes, Master.¡± The right noises to avoid punishment. Nothing more. She would do anything he wanted, now.


    Kal saw through her, and chuckled. ¡°Don¡¯t lie to me. Of course you wouldn¡¯t. Not yet. Your training has only begun, Pet. This was just the first lesson. There will be more.¡± He turned and walked away. ¡°But for now¡­you¡¯ve earned a little more love from Mari. Thank me.¡±


    ¡°Thank you, Master.¡±


    Kal gave a satisfied grunt, and left.


    Adrey hung in the frame and felt nothing at all. Oh, there was still pain but it was¡­out there, somehow. News from a distant land, not touching the core of her. Guilt and sorrow and shame, too, those seemed like things she ought to be feeling, she ought to be grieving for the comrades and friends she¡¯d just given up. It didn¡¯t matter that everyone talked under torture¡­she had. Her failure was complete.


    The plan, the hope she¡¯d held on to like a tiny candle in the dark, guttered and went out, leaving behind nothing at all. Just an empty vessel for the Peltons to play with and discard, and Adrey couldn¡¯t even summon up enough of herself to resent or fear that.


    When Mari Pelton bustled into the basement a few minutes later, she found Adrey still dangling from her shackles, unmoving from where Kal had left her. She tutted, and set about applying healing magic and crooning soft words about how good Adrey was, how brave Adrey was, how perfect Adrey was.


    But all throughout, she didn¡¯t use Adrey¡¯s name. She called her ¡®Pet.¡¯


    Pet obediently allowed herself to be tended to. She allowed Mari to bathe her again, and tend her wounds, and even feed her a heartening soup. All throughout, she thanked her Mistress for this kindness, and was a Good Girl. And the broken majority of her defeated mind meant it.


    Her opportunity very nearly slipped her grasp. It came, and would have gone again in an instant, except some inner reserve, some last little spark of Adrey noticed it¡­and took the opportunity.


    It came as Mari was tucking her back into bed, attaching her restraints again, in the same pattern as always. Right ankle. Left ankle. Left wrist. Right wri¡ª


    Adrey kissed her. Right as Mari was close enough to reach, just before her lips were out of reach, Adrey surged up and kissed her with a river of broken tears washing her cheeks. Every ounce of pain, terror, desperation, failure and helplessness went into the kiss, transformed into the best display of broken passion she could manage.


    And Mari fell for it. It was, in fact, exactly what Mari wanted. She purred a delighted ¡°Good Girl¡­¡± and indulged herself in this new and unexpected pleasure for several of the most hateful, and most hopeful, seconds of Adrey¡¯s life. Though she dared not think about hate or hope at all, lest her lips falter and betray her. Instead she kissed the woman she detested with all the fierce hunger she could muster, keeping her mind numb to all but the (sickeningly truthful) impulse to surrender herself and be a Good Pet.


    Eventually, Mari sat up, wobbling and dazed and clearly very, very satisfied indeed. She looked down at Adrey, who lay trembling and staring up at her with wide, conflicted, confused eyes: She giggled.


    ¡°Well¡­excellent,¡± she said. She touched up her hair, wiped her smeared lipstick with a fingertip, and stood. She cast a last look at Adrey¡¯s bound figure, stroked Adrey¡¯s face, whispered ¡°Good girl,¡± again, and almost stumbled from the room.


    Adrey remained still, listening. She heard the creak and thud of Mari climbing the stairs. She heard the door above, and voices, and then¡ª


    And then the sound she¡¯d been waiting for. Kal and Mari really did like to work out their passions on each other.


    She took a deep breath¡­and carefully extracted her right wrist from the shackle Mari had been too distracted to finish closing.


    She twisted, stretching across to reach her left wrist, and her probing fingers found exactly what she¡¯d known they would. The shackles were basic things, shiny steel held by pinching their loose ends together and fitting a bolt and padlock. Fortunately, Adrey knew padlocks. And she knew these were good enough to restrain a woman with both hands bound, but not a woman with one hand free who¡¯d been trained in locks and how to break them. All that cheap padlocks like these needed was the right pressure in the right place, a sharp tug¡ª


    ¡ªClick!¡ª


    ¡ªand the plan had worked. It had worked! She hated what she¡¯d had to give up, what she¡¯d had to do to earn this opportunity, and she knew she would never feel clean or whole ever again, but with two more clicks her ankles were released and she was free!


    And the Peltons, in their arrogance, had left her clothes and her weapons on display at the far end of the room to mock her.


    <hr>


    Mari¡¯s world was alive with triumph and sensation. She¡¯d won.


    Oh, that kiss! Shades, that kiss had been something special. She¡¯d been anticipating something like it for a couple of days now, and it had been everything she dreamed of and more. She could still taste it on her lips, not just the sweetness of Adrey¡¯s tongue but the salt tang of her broken tears and, she fancied, the bitter medley of emotions behind it.


    Poor girl. Her mind must be a terribly messy place right now. But that was okay: Mari would help her sort it out. Their pet would be perfect, now that she¡¯d finally given in.


    For now, though¡­she wanted to celebrate her victory. And for that, she had her stallion. Kal¡¯s powerful body was always so terribly thrilling to her, as he gave her a taste of where Adrey¡¯s head must be right now. He was in control of her, ruling her, dominating her. She was completely in his grasp as he pinned her to the kitchen table by her throat and made both it and her shake with the force of his violent lovemaking.


    Life was perfect.


    ¡°Oh, yes¡­yes! Right there! Just like that!¡±


    Kal gasped and went rigid, and Mari moaned in surprised frustration. Surely he hadn¡¯t climaxed yet? Kal usually went so long, and¡­no, she couldn¡¯t feel¡ª


    Something hot and liquid spattered her navel and she opened her eyes, confused that it was outside when she could still feel him inside. She looked up into her husband¡¯s face: His expression was open-mouthed, confused, horrified.


    And there was a solid three inches of pointed steel protruding from his sternum. Blood dripped from its tip onto her belly.


    Even as Mari got her head around this fact, the daggerpoint whipped back through and out of him, and a gout of blood erupted from the hole, heart¡¯s blood still being squirted directly out of the skewered organ as it thrashed and pumped madly around the fatal wound, then went abruptly still.


    Kal¡¯s eyes rolled back in his head, he toppled over sideways and crashed to the ground. Behind him was Adrey Mossjoy, scarred and branded and starved, covered in blood¡­


    And absolutely not broken. The look in her eyes was pure cold determination.


    Mari opened her mouth to say something, anything, to plead, to defiantly taunt, to persuade, to scream in terror or wail in grief for her husband¡¯s death, or, no, to command with the full power of her magic¡ª


    But Adrey was not like her, nor like Kal. Mari would have gloated and taunted the victim of such a reversal. That was what she¡¯d been counting on, that there was still a conversation to come between them, that the wonderful kiss of just a few minutes ago had actually been genuine in some way, that Adrey would feel enough to say something to her, to want to hear her say something, to force her to beg for her life¡ª


    But Adrey just wanted her dead. The Hatpin sunk into Mari¡¯s throat, and whatever last words Mari Pelton might have had were lost in a choking, surprised cough and a gurgle.


    There was surprisingly little pain. That didn¡¯t seem¡­just¡­somehow.


    She¡­deserved¡­


    Pain¡­


    <hr>


    For long seconds, the room was almost quiet. Not perfectly so: Kal¡¯s corpse emitted a low moan as its own bodyweight slowly forced the air from its lungs, and Mari¡¯s limbs were still spasming with post-mortem nerve tremors. Her blood ran off the table to patter softly on the stone floor.


    Adrey let out a shuddering breath, then sniffed, hiccuped, sobbed once, then got herself **under control with a wrench of fierce will.


    She was reasonably certain there was nobody else in the house. Certainly she¡¯d never heard Mari or Kal talking to anyone in this kitchen, nor heard any sounds no matter how she listened to suggest a servant, but she wasn¡¯t about to take chances. With hatpin in one hand and slashing short-knife in the other she stalked from room to room and made absolutely certain she was alone.


    She was in a country house, the sort of ¡°cottage¡± that rich people commissioned to enjoy the bucolic aesthetic. As predicted, really: they¡¯d been torturing her in a cellar with a ground-level window, you couldn¡¯t do that in the city without somebody overhearing. They were up in the hills dexterward of Auldenheigh, with a frankly excellent view of Auldenheigh laid out before them, maybe nine or ten miles away, with a smaller village closer to hand, a mile or two away down the valley. Auldmill? No. Crowvale.


    Her scouting excursion revealed neither dovecote nor carrier pigeons, nor any sign of a third horse in the stables that a rider might have taken. She couldn¡¯t rule out telepathic communication of course, not considering the magical talent Mari had demonstrated¡­but there was no sense in worrying about that. And if she hurried back to the city, she might be in time to warn Skinner, Bothroyd and the others.


    Urgent though that thought was, though, finding a mirror in the master bedroom shocked her into stillness.


    She was¡­marked. All over. Her whole body was a woven tapestry of white scars and pale lines. She¡¯d picked up a few nicks and cuts in training with Skinner and her other blade tutors over the years, but now, she barely recognized the body she saw. Days of torture while barely being given enough food and water to endure had starved her down more than she¡¯d thought. That ripped, tattered skin hugged close over too-lean ribs and haggard muscle, stretched tight over gaunt cheeks and had gone sunken and dark around eyes which had once sparkled back at her and now reflected only dull resolve.


    Unconsciously, she transferred her hatpin to her left hand and brought her fingers up to touch the very last mark they¡¯d made on her. The letter P, picked out in wrinkled coarse flesh that still hurt from where Mari¡¯s magic hadn¡¯t quite soothed the deepest layers of the burn. P for Pelton. P for Pet.


    Her stomach convulsed, and she doubled over to painfully throw up the soup Mari had given her earlier. Like the snap of an elastic band breaking under tension, everything that had happened, everything she had endured and what had nearly become of her and what she had done and what she had nearly done all hit her at once and for some minutes she could do nothing but flop to the ground and weep until her dehydrated body would yield no more tears, though her eyes still painfully tried to.


    She was so tired. Not enough sleep, the exertion of torture, the stress of planning and executing her escape, the terrible wracking sobs¡­she was so, so very tired that all she wanted was to fall asleep right there on the floor and perhaps wake up later and proceed from there¡­or perhaps be captured by the Peltons¡¯ allies, perhaps be killed.


    Right then, it almost didn¡¯t matter to her.


    Almost.


    Instead, she labored heavily to her feet, retrieved her weapons, and¡­and¡­


    She couldn¡¯t return to the cellar. Even though her clothes and other weapons were down there, she just couldn¡¯t. No matter how much she reasoned and tried to compel herself with logic, her body disobeyed her and refused to take one step through the cellar door and back down those stairs. In the end, she took some of Mari¡¯s clothes from the wardrobe in the master bedroom. The fit was all wrong, Mari having been shorter, curvier, more buxom and more generous in the waist and hips, but it was that or go walking through the village and back to the city in naught but her scars.


    She made do. A belt here and a ribbon there adjusted the fit enough to not be obvious at a casual glance. She could be¡­she could be Miss Emily Bell. It was a persona she¡¯d invented some time ago and not yet used.


    She paused by the kitchen door to look at her captors one last time, and nearly broke down in tears again. Kal¡¯s lumpen form lay half on his side on the floor by the table, but Mari was still spread-eagled on its surface and her head fell back over the table¡¯s near side so that her open eyes seemed to stare at Adrey with an expression of¡­was that sorrow? Guilt?


    It couldn¡¯t be¡­could it?


    Without quite knowing why, she entered the room and reached out to touch Mari¡¯s corpse-cold cheek. The insane urge to kiss the dead woman¡¯s forehead and apologize flashed through Adrey¡¯s mind, accompanied by a swell of¡­grief?


    If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.


    Fuck. They really had broken her, on some level.


    She steeled herself to spit in Mari¡¯s face instead, but found she couldn¡¯t do that either. As much as she hated them and what they¡¯d done to her, what they¡¯d wanted to do to her, and as much as they had violated her in ways she would never be able to forgive even if she somehow healed from them¡­


    There was no point. It was just a corpse. She¡¯d already taken her vengeance.


    In the end, she settled for closing the body¡¯s eyes so they would stop looking at her. Then she shivered, turned away, marched out of the house, saddled up a horse, and rode away.


    It was only once the cottage behind her was lost from view around a bend in the lane that she finally took a good look at Auldenheigh, and saw that it was burning.


    <hr>


    <h2>Hatpin</h2>


    Auldenheigh 09.06.03.12.12


    Sure enough, Well Street was cordoned off, and the cordon had been moved far back by the time Bothroyd arrived. The Clear Skies men responsible for it gave Bothroyd a look of muted disdain as he strode up to and through their cordon, but apparently they didn¡¯t yet have the authority to boss the constabulary around.


    Their expressions suggested they soon would, though. And that they would enjoy that power when it was finally theirs.


    Winter¡¯s tits, things were turning bad. Whatever Civorage and his collaborators were up to, it was coming to a head. And these murders played into it somehow, Jed was sure. Not just the Harrows over on Park End, but now¡­


    Inspector Nalesmith looked up from writing his notes and gave him a grim nod as Jed slowed to approach him. Raksuul¡¯s love, the blood was even dripping down the front doorstep¡­


    ¡°Serjant. Thought you were on beat up in the old city today.¡±


    ¡°I, uh¡­know a couple of the lodgers ¡®ere,¡± Jed ventured, which was as close to the truth as he dared go. Fortunately, Nalesemith didn¡¯t interrogate him: his face screwed up in a moment¡¯s sympathetic pain, and he put a hand on Bothroyd¡¯s shoulder.


    ¡°Oh, I¡¯m sorry Jed. Which lodgers?¡±


    ¡°Addie Rubb an¡¯ Sadie Peason.¡±


    Nalesmith¡¯s eyes narrowed. ¡°¡­Interesting.¡±


    ¡°Somethin¡¯ the matter, Ben?¡±


    ¡°You tell me. Your two friends aren¡¯t among the dead.¡±


    Well, Adrey¡¯s absence was no surprise at all, but Sadie¡ª! Jed inflated with a sudden feeling of hope, which was immediately tempered by the spy¡¯s traditional paranoia. Sadie had literally only been on the very threshold of being recruited before Adrey¡¯s capture. There was no actual trust in her yet.


    Fortunately, Jed himself had an ocean of trust built up with Ben Nalesmith, who accurately took his reaction as a blend of delighted hope and increased worry, and nodded grimly. ¡°If you knew ¡®em¡­perhaps you¡¯d better come inside. You might add something to my investigation.¡±


    ¡°Elves again?¡± Jed asked.


    ¡°So it seems. Not like I found a vamdraech lying around, but¡­well, you¡¯ll see.¡±


    He guided Jed through the door, stepping carefully around the little runnel in the middle of the hall where the worn tiles had channeled somebody¡¯s blood into a thin stream.


    The source turned out to be Esme Brooknetter, lying face-down and sprawled heavily alongside the kitchen table. Jed sighed as he knelt down to study the old girl. Credit to her, the ol¡¯ battleaxe had died with a weapon in her hand in the form of the fireplace poker, but of course it had done her no good against Fey assassins. Her killers had clearly danced around her aggressive flailing and delivered a pair of fatal strikes, one in the armpit and one in the side of her neck. Both represented mercifully quick deaths, at least, and there was a pattern emerging there. The elves hadn¡¯t killed with any particular malice, just terrible dispassionate efficiency.


    It was definitely the elves again, though. The same bare footprints circled the room like the steps in a grisly dance illustration.


    Larnie Midge and Mellie Corroy were huddled together in a corner of the living room, arms wrapped around each other and their throats cut so exquisitely that Jed guessed a single stroke had done for them both. His heart couldn¡¯t help but ache for them, nor fail to burn with disgust for their killer. Cruelty and sadism he could almost understand, in a twisted way. And the ancient elves would certainly have made sport of two young ladies, and he could almost understand that. But to just¡­end them? Swiftly, efficiently, with neither undue suffering nor pity, when they posed no threat whatsoever?


    That was a mindset Jed didn¡¯t understand at all.


    The intriguing thing was that both Sadie¡¯s room and ¡°Adelia¡¯s¡± had been thoroughly tossed about. Even the walls had been broken as the elves rooted out every conceivable hiding place¡­which meant they had expected to find and kill both women.


    That implied two things to Jed. First, that the Network was very, very badly compromised at quite a high level, and second that the leak couldn¡¯t have been Adrey. But it only implied those things. Implications could be deliberately created by a sufficiently wily and foresighted enemy.


    Nalesmith watched him take all this in, and demonstrated why he was an inspector when he asked, ¡°How did you know them, Jed?¡±


    ¡°Through work.¡±


    ¡°¡­Somehow I doubt you collared two posh young ladies like these girls for streetwalking.¡±


    Bothroyd sighed. He briefly considered what he might say, knowing that an evasion would just make the inspector suspicious, and trying to claim it wasn¡¯t important would be flatly denied. Dammit. His concern and compassion might have just put him in a compromising position, just like Skinner had always told him it would.


    ¡°You¡¯re askin¡¯ questions I can¡¯t answer, inspector,¡± he said.


    ¡°Won¡¯t, you mean.¡±


    ¡°Ben¡­¡± Bothroyd turned to face him. ¡°You¡¯ve a good eye, an¡¯ good instincts. So, yes, I¡¯m into some shite I can¡¯t talk about. That¡¯s all I can say.¡±


    Ben Nalesmith considered him for a long second, then an even longer one. The house was quiet as only a house full of corpses can be, a silence punctuated only by the ticking of the grandfather clock in the hall¡­until somewhere far distant off in the city, there was a distant crack and a pop. Both men glanced out the window, and saw that one of the patrolling airships out on the far side of the river had fired a signal flare, and now a message light on its prow was winking the drunken rhythm of a message: E¡­C¡­L¡­I¡­P¡­S¡­E¡­


    Jed frowned. There wasn¡¯t one scheduled for today, was there? No, he was quite sure there wasn¡¯t. But that only made the already ominous word gain new significance, though what exactly it meant here and now remained opaque to him.


    In any case, the sight of it broke the silence between them. Nalesmith frowned in equal discomfort, then leaned forward and lowered his voice. ¡°What¡¯s happening in this city is wrong, Jed. It¡¯s been wrong for years.¡±


    ¡°¡­Say what you mean, Ben. We¡¯re past time for careful talk, I think.¡±


    ¡°I mean, the Oneists, and the Clear Skies, and the new Duke and all these laws and the curfew and all that. It¡¯s so bloody wrong. And¡­wrong it may have been but at least it was peaceful. But now all the rules got ramped up and these new airships and marines have come in and¡­¡± Nalesmith sighed and glanced out the window toward the signalling airship again. ¡°We¡¯re one spark away from the whole city going up in flames, and it¡¯s like there¡¯s some madman standing around with a lit match and a big grin on his face just waiting for the perfect moment.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re not loyal to the duke?¡± Bothroyd asked.


    ¡°Fuck the duke. It should still be Duchess Ellaenie in the palace. There; I¡¯ve said it. If that gets me dragged off to Brackishmarsh, I no longer bloody care.¡±


    This could be a test, Jed thought. Nalesmith could be saying it to get him to agree, and then when he did he¡¯d be arrested for sedition, but¡­on the other hand¡­on the other hand, the network was so well compromised that elvish killers were knocking out its safehouses and through-stations. There was probably no need for such games any longer. And Ben Nalesmith had always seemed an honest, honorable sort¡­


    He made his decision, and nodded. ¡°Well said. But if you¡¯re looking to get in closer to the shite I¡¯m into¡­don¡¯t. Not yet. Not now.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not stupid, Jed. There¡¯s a resistance. I think you¡¯re in it, and I want in.¡±


    ¡°Now, of all times?¡±


    ¡°Especially now.¡±


    Whatever Jed would have said next would forever go unspoken. Before he could even think what to say, he heard the sound he¡¯d been waiting for and dreading all day. And it was close. It was far too bloody close. It was right outside, from the Clear Skies cordon right here on Well Street. A rippling blast and crackle, followed by screaming and shouts.


    It was the sound of armed men shooting into a crowd.


    <hr>


    <h2>Sitting and worrying</h2>


    A safehouse, Auldenheigh 09.06.03.12.12


    Skinner prowled his office, moving an assortment of little tokens on a map in response to runners who came and went with news every few minutes. When he wasn¡¯t playing with the map, he was playing with a large sheet of brown paper he¡¯d tacked to the wall, on which a variety of seemingly random words had been scrawled in two columns: ¡°Anvil,¡± ¡°Hatpin,¡± ¡°Lavender, ¡°¡±Cascade,¡± ¡°Gallant¡± and more down the left, ¡°Bracken,¡± ¡°Sable,¡± ¡°Whitestone,¡± and many more down the right. He¡¯d spent some time sticking more pins in the sheet by each word and connecting them with lengths of string, muttering to himself as he paced and drank coffee from a battered and badly stained infantryman¡¯s tin mug.


    It all meant nothing to Sadie Peason, who in any case was too numb with shock, grief, horror, terror and a dozen other overwhelming emotions to think very hard about anything. Still, it was a puzzle her mind had latched onto. It was¡­safer¡­than thinking too hard about the fact that Mrs. Brooknetter, Larnie and Mellie were dead, that Addie was probably dead, and that she herself was only alive because of the ruffian now prowling between his map, notes and wall chart and radiating the same energy as a caged tiger.


    Skinner hadn¡¯t come for her personally, of course. That had been the job of a dark-skinned lad named ¡°Mutt¡± who¡¯d knocked somewhat impertinently on Sadie¡¯s window in the dead of night and explained first that he was a friend of Adelia¡¯s, and second that she was likely in quite terrible danger and needed to come with him immediately.


    At the time, Sadie wasn¡¯t sure if going with him had been foolish or not. In hindsight¡­


    Over the course of the day, as reports came in, Skinner had sighed and crossed out some of the words on his chart. Then he¡¯d hung some more string.


    Try as she might, Sadie could see no discernible logic in the connections. Perhaps that was just because she didn¡¯t know exactly what the words signified, nor the columns. But if Skinner¡¯s pacing was any indicator, he couldn¡¯t see any particular logic in the connections either, and it was driving him to irritability.


    The latest report, however, seemed to crush him. A skinny, elderly bald man came and went with a note, Skinner read it, scrawled the word ¡°ECLIPSE¡± on the board at the bottom, then finally stopped pacing. Instead he came and sat next to Sadie. After a few silent seconds, he produced a slim metal flask from inside his vest, and added its contents to his coffee.


    ¡°¡­How bad is it?¡± Sadie asked, quietly.


    ¡°Bloody bad.¡±


    ¡°Any¡­any news on Addie?¡±


    ¡°Not yet.¡±


    Silence. It sounded like somebody was letting off fireworks outside, some distance away. Sadie couldn¡¯t remember the last time there had been fireworks in Auldenheigh. She rather suspected they weren¡¯t fireworks at all.


    ¡°¡­Are we going to be okay?¡±


    Skinner sighed, and handed her his flask. Sadie was not a drinker of strong spirits by inclination, so she didn¡¯t exactly enjoy the first mouthful¡­but she took a second regardless.


    ¡°Ugh¡­¡± She cleared her throat and handed back the flask. ¡°What is that?¡±


    ¡°Brandy. Good brandy. Somethin¡¯ me aul¡¯ grandma used to tell me, she said ¡®there¡¯s three things in life smart folks ain¡¯t stingy on: boots, clothes, an¡¯ spirits.¡¯¡± He affected a grim smile, raised the flask in toast to his presumably deceased grandparent, and swigged it.


    ¡°¡­Surely you should buy the best of everything, if you can?¡±


    ¡°Nah. Tools, for instance. You buy cheap tools first. If¡¯n you wear out the cheap one, then you know you¡¯re usin¡¯ it enough to need the good ones.¡±


    ¡°Huh.¡±


    ¡°You grew up wi¡¯ money, of course.¡±


    ¡°Not as much as you might think¡­¡± Sadie began, then blinked when he glanced at her. ¡°¡­But more than you, I daresay.¡±


    ¡°Pretty easy to have more¡¯n none at all,¡± Skinner agreed.


    ¡°So¡­why are you doing this?¡± Sadie asked.


    ¡°¡¯Ow d¡¯you mean?¡±


    ¡°Well, I mean¡­A lot of the Oneist rhetoric is about how evil the rich are, keeping the poor downtrodden and stealing their hard work¡ª¡±


    Skinner¡¯s laugh interrupted her. He sipped his brandy a last time, then put the flask away, shaking his head. ¡°Well, ¡®fer a start, I know a fuckin¡¯ scam when I see one.¡±


    ¡°Ah, well¡ª¡±


    ¡°But¡­¡± he raised a hand to show he had more to add. ¡°I grew up poor because me ¡®da was a gambler an¡¯ a drinker who couldn¡¯t ¡®old down a job for long, beat ¡®ma ¡®alf dead more¡¯n once, beat ¡®alf me teeth out on the day I caught ¡®im touchin¡¯ me sister, an¡¯ finally got chucked in¡¯t river in a sack full o¡¯ bricks ¡®cuz ¡®e owed money ¡®e didn¡¯t ¡®ave to some very nasty fuckers. I never blamed the toffs for us bein¡¯ poor. I knew exactly who was to blame.¡±


    ¡°Yes, but even without him¡ª¡±


    ¡°What I¡¯m sayin¡¯ is¡­there¡¯s bastards in every walk o¡¯ life. There¡¯s bastard mill owners, an¡¯ bastard mill workers. There¡¯s bastard landlords, an¡¯ there¡¯s bastard tenants. An¡¯ yeah, it¡¯s ¡®ardly fuckin¡¯ fair that one kind o¡¯ bastard gets to lounge around on fancy furniture, wearin¡¯ fancy clothes at fancy parties an¡¯ havin¡¯ their floors scrubbed by a girl who only gets paid a brass a day, but anyone who claims they can make the world fair all in one go is the worst kind o¡¯ bastard of all: a stupid bastard. ¡®Cuz if even the bloody Crowns can¡¯t do it, or won¡¯t, then who the fuck among us grubby lot can, or should?¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t want the world to be a better place?¡±


    ¡°Oh, you¡¯ve got me wrong, love. I do. Why d¡¯you think I¡¯m ¡®ere, fightin¡¯ this fight?¡± he waved a hand at his map. ¡°I jus¡¯ don¡¯t think there¡¯s an easy solution to the world, an¡¯ whatever it is, it sure as shit don¡¯t involve murder an¡¯ takin¡¯ away folks¡¯ free will. Some¡¯ow, whatever a better world looks like, it¡¯s still gotta be one where folks¡¯re free to be bastards.¡±


    ¡°Even bastards like your father?¡±


    Skinner shrugged, then looked up as a bird arrived on the windowsill. He hopped to his feet, retrieved the pigeon, untied the message from its leg, and transferred it to a wicker basket where it cooed and crooned alongside half a dozen others of its kind. He unrolled the note, read it, then tossed it into the fire.


    ¡°Make yourself useful,¡± he said. ¡°I assume you can write.¡±


    ¡°Of course.¡±


    ¡°Write, then.¡± He indicated a pen and a stack of papers on one end of his table. ¡°We¡¯ve got messages to send out.¡±


    Sadie scrambled to comply, honestly glad of something to do. As he dictated each note, she took them down with what she hoped was the right balance of alacrity and clarity, and he affixed each one to a bird. The notes were incomprehensible strings of yet more seemingly random words and phrases, such as ¡®Barfly set in stone. Chicken for dinner. Bellringer¡¯s Lane.¡¯ or ¡¯Lighthouse out of oil. Gravel for supper. Copper¡¯s Alley.¡¯


    Sadie could see there was a structure and sense to the communiques, but Skinner didn¡¯t explain it and she didn¡¯t ask. She didn¡¯t want to know. Somehow, she sensed it was safest for a lot of people, herself included, if she didn¡¯t know.


    Aside from Skinner¡¯s dictations, the scratching of her pen, and the occasional interruption as a man or pigeon came and went, the room was silent. But that just let the sound of what was happening outside drift in. Sadie concentrated on writing and tried to block out the knowledge that people were dying out there, that each distant rippling crackle of gunshots punctuated another massacre.


    She tried not to think of¡­of Miss Brooknetter. And Larnie and Mellie. And Addie.


    She tried to keep her hand from shaking.


    Eventually, a pigeon came in whose message caused Skinner to pull the paper chart down from the wall, wad it up and throw it in the fire. He swept his various tokens and markers into a satchel, folded up the map and beckoned for Sadie to follow. In seconds, his command post was all packed up as though it had never been here.


    ¡°Where are we going?¡± Sadie asked.


    ¡°Relocating. This place isn¡¯t safe any longer.¡±


    ¡°But¡ª¡±


    ¡°I know, it¡¯s a warzone out there. Trust me.¡±


    Sadie had no choice. She bobbed her head nervously, wondered when or if the world would stop upending itself, and meekly followed him down the stairs and out into a back alley. Mutt was waiting there with coats and hats, which Sadie threw around herself. They smelled of potatos, damp and mothballs, but from a distance she would just be a desperate, hunched figure in a brown raincoat.


    Outdoors, the muffled sounds that had made her so anxious were ten times louder and more immediate. She could smell smoke on the air, and not just woodsmoke either. There¡¯s was a sharp, acrid, sulphurous note in there she¡¯d never tasted before but which she guessed must be gunpowder. She could hear shouting, too. A distant, indistinct roar of voices raised in anger and violence that made her tremble.


    ¡°Come on,¡± Mutt ushered them down the alley. ¡°The battle¡¯s comin¡¯ this way.¡±


    Sadie put her head down and scurried along in Skinner¡¯s footsteps. Sure enough, the shouting and shooting were both getting nearer. As she ran, something huge and heavy wallowed overhead, an airship that bellied past amidst the stench of lift-gas and burnt ethanol exhaust as it described a wide arc so low that it nearly clipped off chimneypots and roof tiles, rolling so that its port side tipped downwards¡­


    Just before it vanished out of sight, it fired, and the thunder of its guns tried to kick all the air out of her chest. She¡¯d never heard or felt anything so loud in all her life, and she yelped as primal panic tried to seize her.


    In the aftermath of the ship¡¯s bombardment, the shouting and screaming had a now tenor¡­and the backwash of its engines carried a new reek to her nostrils, a horrible meaty bloody stench that reminded her in equal parts of a cheap butcher shop and an open sewer. Somewhere, mere yards away, terrible ruin had been inflicted on far too many human bodies.


    There was no other possible response: they put their heads down and ran.


    <hr>


    <blockquote>


    ¡°I love horses. They eat grass, produce fertilizer, and will pull or carry pretty much whatever you want, all day long. If they could fly, we would have no need of airships.¡± ¡ªDerghan Keegh


    </blockquote>


    <h2>In a ditch</h2>


    Crow Vale, Enerlend 09.06.03.12.12


    Adrey woke as soon as she hit the ground, though it took her muddled thoughts a few seconds to reassemble themselves and piece together the notion that she¡¯d fainted in the saddle and fallen off her horse.


    It hurt, a bit. Probably it would have hurt more if Adrey¡¯s personal understanding of pain hadn¡¯t been subject to such violent recalibration so recently. As it was, compared to Kal Pelton¡¯s inventive sadism, a few bruises and grazes were nothing.


    Even so¡­she found herself too weak to move. Though she tried, she just¡­she just couldn¡¯t. The fatigue of torture had caught her up, and the surge of strength she¡¯d found in her escape was gone, utterly spent. Now, it was catching up on her that she¡¯d had little to eat or drink for three days except the thin soup Mari had spoon-fed her. She was starved, dehydrated, tormented¡­


    And¡­


    She rested her head and shut her stinging eyes. The horse, having paused to sniff at her and nudge her with his nose, decided she wasn¡¯t about to get up and wandered off to go crop the grass nearby.


    What was even the point? She¡¯d spilled what she knew under torture, and the Peltons had had plenty of time to send off a bird or even a human rider before her escape. And the city was¡­


    She opened her eyes and lolled her head over to look at it. From this vantage, she could see quite a lot of Auldenheigh, and the whole conurbation seemed to be at war. Smoke rose not only in columns, but in walls where entire streets were on fire. Orbiting airships quartered the districts, and the sound of their cannons was like thunder amidst distant hills.


    People were dying down there, and she was too weak to save even one. Her body just wanted to lie here and sleep, and her will to push through and keep going was all spent. She couldn¡¯t even summon the impetus to feel anything. All she could do was¡­watch.


    A tear trickled down the crease of her nose, down her cheek, and off her chin. She felt it, but couldn¡¯t even care enough to wipe it away.


    After a time¡ªperhaps a minute, perhaps an hour, perhaps seconds, perhaps a lifetime¡ªshe became aware of boots crunching on the gravelly road nearby. She wanted to turn her head, but even that was too much effort, now.


    The boots¡¯ owner squatted down next to her. ¡°Are you alright?¡±


    Adrey managed the faintest twitch of her head, left and right. The voice was female, light and soft, but¡­distracted, somehow. As if the speaker¡¯s attention was elsewhere.


    ¡°No, I suppose you wouldn¡¯t be.¡± A thin, pale hand reached out and caressed her cheek far too intimately. The voice tutted. ¡°Oh my dear, they really did brutalize you.¡±


    Adrey shivered. She was utterly at the mercy of this stranger, and somehow she could just tell that they weren¡¯t a friend. Some hopeless bottom creaked and groaned in her soul like it was about to fall out. Had she escaped from the Peltons only to fall into somebody else¡¯s hands?


    Slim cool fingers brushed away her tears. ¡°Hushh¡­hush. Here and now, you¡¯re safe. Better than safe, in fact. I want nothing from you.¡±


    ¡°¡­Help me¡­¡± Adrey managed. Her own voice sounded pathetic even to her.


    ¡°Of course.¡± The hand¡¯s palm pressed lightly to her cheek and¡­


    It was like being struck by lightning. It was agony, yet at the same time it cleansed her. In an instant, all of Adrey¡¯s pain and fatigue was blown away like beating the dust out of a carpet, and she jerked up into a seating position with a shocked gasp.


    Her rescuer was a woman dressed in black. Her clothes were¡­well, to Adrey¡¯s eye, as a student of fashion, disguise, and clothing in general, her clothes were a mess. No two components of her garb seemed to match, and though each was clearly well-made and would have been expensive, the result was rather as though a down-on-her-luck socialite had gone and salvaged whatever she could find from a few hundred years¡¯ worth of abandoned wardrobes. The little black lace bolero around her shoulders and upper arms had been a fashionable replacement for shawls about forty years ago, for instance. She was wearing it over a half-corset and blouse that was the present cutting edge of fashion over in Urstlend, but the skirts and petticoats were of a cut that had fallen out of fashion more than a hundred years ago, and the Crowns alone knew when that kind of feathery stole had ever been in vogue. It was shedding feathers like a dead crow¡¯s wing, and several blew away on the breeze as the woman smiled and stood up again.


    She wasn¡¯t bothering with either hat or headscarf at all. But it was her expression that really made Adrey stop and stare at her: she¡¯d never seen somebody who looked so bored. Even her posture was a disaffected slouch, and if Adrey was any judge she hadn¡¯t done more than vaguely wave a comb at her wheat blonde tresses in some time. The hair had a tangled look to it that was just on the wrong side of the line between artful dishevelment and genuine neglect.


    It had to be said though that her face was even more beautiful than Mari¡¯s had been, in a gaunt way. But it was entirely devoid of enthusiasm or spirit. Eyes like a pair of scuffed brass coins gave Adrey a brief glance up and down more out of resigned attention to detail than any real interest, then stood up and turned to the city where, at last, the faintest twitch of a smile touched lips which would have been full and beautiful if not perpetually pulled down at the corners.


    ¡°There,¡± she said.


    ¡°I¡­¡± Crowns, Adrey almost sobbed. All her pain was gone, instantly and completely. It was the first time in days she¡¯d felt whole and undamaged in body. ¡°Thank you! Oh, Crowns! I don¡¯t know how to¡ª¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t bother,¡± the woman said.


    ¡°But¡ª¡±


    ¡°What do you feel?¡± the woman asked, softly. She pointed toward the city with the barest lift of her chin, though there was sluggish weight in the movement, as though even such a minimal gesture had been dredged up out of some fathomless sump of ennui.


    ¡°I¡­well¡­about what?¡± Adrey asked. She could have stood up, she felt, but she didn¡¯t. Not yet.


    ¡°About your home burning. Do you feel something? Anything at all?¡±


    ¡°Of course I do!¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°I¡ªUm.¡± Adrey blinked at her, utterly confused. Who was this woman? ¡°I¡ªWell. Sorrow?¡±


    ¡°Just that?¡±


    ¡°¡­Anger.¡±


    ¡°Good¡­¡±


    ¡°And fear. For¡­for people I care about.¡±


    ¡°Powerful fear?¡±


    ¡°Yes! And¡­¡± Adrey blinked then surged to her feet, spurred by the realization of her own emotions. ¡°I¡­I¡¯m sorry, I¡¯m grateful, but I can¡¯t stay here. I need to get down there, I need to¡ª!¡±


    For the first time, an actual smile flowered over the woman¡¯s face and she took a deep breath as though savoring the first cool breeze after too long in a stuffy parlour. ¡°There,¡± she whispered. ¡°Oh, there¡¯s some passion at last¡­¡±


    Adrey blinked at her, far too confused to ask any questions or say anything. Then she set her jaw and strode off toward the horse. She wasn¡¯t about to waste this healing, however weird the healer might be. ¡°Thank you. Truly. But I have to be going.¡±


    ¡°Not without this.¡±


    Adrey turned. ¡°Without what¡ª?¡± she began, but the woman pressed something into her hands that completely numbed her mind.


    It was a box, maybe four inches to a side, made of nearly seamless polished wood save for a seam around the equator. Greenish runes hovered the scant width of a fingernail paring above the wood, shimmering and squirming around her fingers.


    The woman with the brass eyes finally met her gaze and shrugged. ¡°I¡¯ll want that back, once you have used it,¡± she said.


    ¡°¡­You know what this is?¡± Adrey asked, hardly able to believe she was holding one.


    ¡°Oh yes. But before I tell you what exactly it is, I need to extract a promise from you. Promise on whatever you hold dear, I don¡¯t care.¡±


    ¡°¡­Promise what, exactly?¡± Adrey asked.


    ¡°Show no mercy.¡± The woman¡¯s gaze, though still somehow dull and listless, bored into her soul. ¡°No remorse, no quarter given. When you get your shot at Nils Civorage¡­you¡¯ll stab him before he can say a word.¡±


    Her words lit a fire Adrey couldn¡¯t have believed she¡¯d feel a few minutes before. ¡°When I get my shot?¡± she asked.


    ¡°Oh yes. It¡¯ll be soon.¡±


    ¡°How can you possibly know¡ª?¡±


    ¡°I do. Do you swear?¡±


    ¡°To do what I would have done anyway?¡± Adrey almost snarled. ¡°I swear it. The moment I lay eyes on that bastard, he¡¯s dead.¡±


    A kind of sated hunger that reminded Adrey all-too-keenly of Mari Pelton flickered briefly in her rescuer¡¯s dull eyes, but vanished as quickly as it had come. ¡°In that case¡­¡±


    She reached out and touched Adrey¡¯s cheek again. This time Adrey had the strength to shiver and recoil; she opened her mouth to snap at the stranger not to do that, wondering if she¡¯d ever be able to enjoy contact like that ever again¡ª


    And then went rigid as knowledge slammed into her brain with the force of a punch to the forehead.


    In her hand, the Word Vault snapped open.


    <hr>


    <h2>Dodging through a warzone</h2>


    Auldenheigh 09.06.03.12.12


    Total insanity was Auldenheigh¡¯s only rule now, and staying out of its way had sent Bothroyd and Nalesmith far out of their path.


    They ditched their uniforms. It had quickly become apparent that the Constabulary, in its attempts to keep order, had been interpreted by both sides as being on the other side, meaning anyone wearing the dark blue coat or the domed helmet was asking to get either shot by the Clear Skies guildmen, or strung up by the general public.


    In hindsight, and with the knowledge he¡¯d gained from being part of the Network, Jed could see the genius at work. Years of little changes, each no more significant than a single slice of meat from the ham, no more weighty than a single barleycorn in the barrel, had drip-drip-dripped into Auldenheigh, year on year, until the population were right on the perfect tipping point of being just frustrated and angry enough to dream of revolt, but never quite desperate enough.


    What in the Crowns¡¯ names the Clear Skies marines were getting out of being the ones to give them that final push, Jed didn¡¯t know. Was it money? The promise of a position of authority in the new order to come once the revolt was put down? Were they just mental thralls under Civorage¡¯s power?


    Part of him hoped and believed it was the latter. Somehow, he had enough faith in humanity to still believe that no self-interested lad would be both pointlessly cruel to ordinary folks and blind to his own chances in the ensuing maelstrom. Better for them to be innocent victims, too. He could cope with that.


    Cold fuckin¡¯ comfort if one of them sniped him, though.


    At least a lifetime on the beat had given Jed a near-perfect mental map of Auldenheigh¡¯s endless maze of streets, alleyways, lanes, rows and arcades.


    The streets and lanes, they avoided as much as they could, conscious that these were the battlefields. Most were empty. Some were carpeted in bodies. Some were carpeted in body, in the horrible slurry of stinking matter left behind when cannon fire passed through crowds. Even the apparently empty ones they scuttled across in a hunched sprint, imagining sniper¡¯s bullets or a squad marching around the corner to catch them in the open.


    The lanes and cul-de-sacs were often barricaded off, and they avoided them. The alleyways felt claustrophobic and constrained, each one a tunnel from danger to danger with nowhere to escape. Human rat-traps.


    The arcades, in fact, turned out to be quite crowded.


    Unsurprising, really. During Eclipse and inclement weather, the covered arcades and marketplaces were kept lit and served as shelters for those who lacked the means to keep their own homes properly lit and warm¡­or, indeed, who lacked a home. It made sense that people who were used to viewing them as safe havens would turn to them in the face of the violence unfolding outside. There were armed men watching the entrances when Jed and Ben came jogging down the street, and they shifted uneasily but didn¡¯t yet raise their weapons. Not fully, at least.


    ¡°That you, Serjant Bothroyd?¡± one of them asked, and Jed recognized a fellow he¡¯d helped stay out of the gangs, many years back. He¡¯d had a nickname¡­what was it again? Oh. Yes.


    ¡°Aye, it¡¯s me.¡± Jed shook his hand. ¡°Good to see you takin¡¯ care o¡¯ folks, Cagey.¡±


    Cagey shrugged. ¡°Somebody ¡®ad to. Hardly recognized you out of uniform¡­¡±


    ¡°Rather not get shot,¡± Jed shrugged. ¡°Everyone alright in there?¡±


    Cagey shrugged again. ¡°Scared shitless. An¡¯ that goes double for me an¡¯ Howler here. If them Clear Skies come down this way¡­¡± He gave a complicated, worried little shrug that made it quite plain just how long he thought they¡¯d hold out with two revolvers versus a squad of marines. But also that he¡¯d be willing to do it, if it bought the people sheltering behind him the time they needed to escape.


    Jed patted him on the shoulder. ¡°You¡¯re better of barricadin¡¯ the door and pretendin¡¯ you¡¯re not there, lads. Anyway. We need to get through to Banmor Bridge,¡± he said.


    ¡°Banmore bridge?¡± Cagey frowned. ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°Gotta get over the river.¡±


    ¡°Not by Banmor Bridge you won¡¯t. It ain¡¯t there no more. One o¡¯ them big airships smashed it.¡±


    ¡°Fuck me¡­¡± Nalesmith muttered. ¡°They¡¯re really bloody serious.¡±


    ¡°Word I got is, the Guild blew it down after the citizen militia took it,¡± Cagey said. ¡°They still ¡®old all the other ones. No-one gets over the river now.¡±


    It made sense. All part of the strategy, presumably.


    ¡°Why¡¯re they doing this?¡± Howler asked. He was a youngish lad, perhaps in his mid twenties. A fighter and a brawler, if Jed was any judge, but no soldier. And he never got an answer.


    From somewhere behind there came a sharp thump, a hissing whistle, and Whistler staggered clutching at the arrow that had buried itself right in the notch of his throat. Another drilled into Cagey¡¯s chest just below his armpit, and a third into Nalesmith¡¯s back. All three men went down in a second.


    ¡°Shit!¡± Jed ducked into the scanty cover of the arcade doorway, and reached for Nalesmith. The inspector was still alive, having been caught in the shoulder rather than dead-center, but there was still a yard of wood sticking out of him and he let out a cry of agony as Jed hauled him none-too-gently through the door.


    Howler was already dead, his eyes vacant and blood pouring from both the wound and his slack moouth. Cagey managed to crawl a little way, then went still with a rattling exhalation.


    A woman in the nurse¡¯s uniform of Black Hill Hospital came running, followed by the men who presumably had been watching the other entrance. For a minute or so, all was screaming and confusion: a young woman shrieked in grief as she ran to Cagey¡¯s side and cradled his head, an older man tried futilely to wake Howler before pulling the young man¡¯s limp body to his chest and weeping. The nurse descended on Nalesmith and started cutting his clothes away to get a better look at the damage. Jed bullied the guards from the other end into sealing this end of the arcade by piling up whatever shop furniture and other heavy objects they could find, then knelt at Nalesmith¡¯s side.


    ¡°Will he live?¡±


    ¡°I need a magestone,¡± the nurse snapped, packing the writhing inspector¡¯s wound with bandage cloth. Jed produced a lightstone from his pouch. It was a big one, a flat river pebble so full of charge it almost hummed. Perfect for night-time patrols when a man might need a long dim light or a big bright one. She seized it, slipped it into her mouth to keep both hands free, and pressed them down hard on Nalesmith¡¯s punctured shoulder: he groaned, but her hands fairly flooded with blue light and within seconds he relaxed.


    She relaxed as well, then spat the stone out. ¡°He¡¯ll live. What happened?¡±


    Jed picked up the arrow she¡¯d pulled from his colleague¡¯s back. ¡°¡­Bloody elves is what happened.¡±


    ¡°Elves?¡± Someone nearby asked. The word got passed back into the group of refugees hiding in the arcade, and Jed could hear the sound of a panic starting¡­and suspicion. There were elves sheltering among them, ordinary working folks from some of Garanhir¡¯s native set, and one of them, a green-skinned G¨¹lfey, found himself in the middle of a ring of suspicious glares.


    Whatever drama might have come of that, however, went unresolved. Before the elf could even open his mouth, there was a splintering crash from above, and people scattered shrieking in an attempt to escape as the broken windows came down among them.


    With it came the elves. Slim, skyclad and sexless, they skipped among the raining glass either heedless of the danger, or confident they could avoid it. Maybe they could. Four of them landed among the civilians, and then there were just four blurs, darting and whirling to and fro faster than the shuttle of a power loom, and wherever they changed direction, somebody died.


    Jed has his pistol out, but there was no hope of shooting one fo them. They were in among the civilians, and far too fast. Even so he tracked back and forth while his blood and breath pounded in his ears, holding back panic with the grim determination to fight until¡ª


    Flash. The pistol spun out of his hand, swatted aside with a clatter of steel on steel. At the same instant, another knife appeared at his throat. Appeared¡­but didn¡¯t cut. It belonged to a new figure, a fifth elf whose whole-face mask tickled it ear as it leaned in and whispered in his ear.


    ¡°Run, Serjant. The sooner you run, the more of them will live¡­¡±


    ¡°I¡ª¡± Jed began, but the elvish blade whipped away leaving the faintest shaving cut on his throat, and he was shoved forward.


    ¡°Run now, or I slay the nurse.¡±


    Jed didn¡¯t turn. He didn¡¯t look. He didn¡¯t hesitate. He didn¡¯t even curse. He just lumbered into a run, and the moment he did the slaughter ceased.


    ¡°Fa ube kine¡­¡± the elf commented, keeping pace with him. ¡°Go on: vama!¡±


    There was nothing for it. Jed couldn¡¯t have fought five elves on his best day as a young man. All he could do was obey, and pray to the Crowns that whatever sick game these elves were playing included a measure of honesty. Gasping, panting and shaking, he put his head down and fled as commanded.


    Behind him he heard laughter¡­but mercifully not the sound of murder.


    Not yet, anyway.


    <hr>


    <h2>Watching from afar</h2>


    Iaka¡¯s sanctum, the Unbroken Earthmote 09.06.03.12.12


    The view through the Left Hand¡¯s eyes, Civorage thought, was really quite informative. The elf evaluated humans in much the same way a human might evaluate a cow, and through the psychic link was conveyed much of the Left Hand¡¯s disdain and amusement. The fat old serjant ran like a steam locomotive getting up to speed, with much puffing and chuffing and blowing, and rather more activity than acceleration.


    ¡°Why him?¡± he asked aloud.


    Lady Iaka was not in a position to answer him verbally. She rose suspended in the midst of her column of light, her arms outstretched to her sides and slightly forward, palms upturned and fingers splayed, but her head was bowed down to her chest with the effort of concentration. The air within her sanctum was hot enough to tighten the skin, and Civorage couldn¡¯t even approach her throne: the temperature near it was hot enough to cook. But the Forsaken herself was either immune to or protected from the scalding heat.


    Civorage didn¡¯t know very much about magic, but he knew it didn¡¯t usually heat the air in any noticeable degree, and indeed couldn¡¯t do it efficiently even if a mage set out to do so deliberately. The furnace blast around Iaka spoke to unfathomable power, which she herself was serving as the fulcrum for.


    She could answer him telepathicaly, however. Apparently her great work was not yet demanding all her focus.


    He is special to Duchess Ellaenie. Or rather, he is special to one who is as a sister to her.


    ¡°Why Ellaenie, then?¡± Civorage asked, noting that Iaka had used the girl¡¯s rank as though it still belonged to her.


    Think. The hex laid upon you was laid by her mentor, in an act of sacrifice while protecting her, and for the sake of protecting her. The skein of magic thus woven is wide and subtle, but it focuses around her, and thus around those who are dear to her.


    ¡°I knew such relationships were significant in the mundane sense¡­¡± Civorage mused. He closed his eyes and watched the Left Hand run up a wall and follow after the running constable at roof height.


    As opposed to?


    ¡°Well¡­the arcane. The magical. The¡­deeper senses.¡±


    A hollow distinction. All is empty. All is interconnected. There are no levels or gradations, Nils. There is only¡­proximity. And even that is an illusion.


    He sensed a pulse of amusement in echo of his own nonplussed frown.


    You of all people cannot understand, of course. To you, minds are real things.


    ¡°If they¡¯re not real, then how can there be a Word of Creation describing them?¡±


    You will see, once we get you a second Word. Now: where is the Countess?


    ¡°The Right Hand nearly has her,¡± Civorage said, shifting his focus. Unlike their sibling, the Right Hand was running over open fields some distance from the city, setting a hard sprint that not even a horse at full gallop could match. He attuned to their mind just in time to watch them arrive at a quaint, pleasant little cottage on the outskirts of Crowvale. A gentlemen¡¯s weekend retreat. Just the sort of place the Peltons would¡ª


    The Right Hand paused and sniffed the air, then slowed to a cautious jog. The air near the house bore the familiar scent of human blood, and when they slid up to the kitchen door¡­


    They drew their blade and slipped inside, before pausing and staring in consternation at the scene before them. The Peltons were dead: Kal lay in a crumpled heap beside the kitchen table with his trousers around his ankles and a hole right through his heart. Mari¡¯s body lay sprawled obscenely on the tabletop, with a neat puncture in her throat. It seemed their prisoner had escaped, and rudely interrupted their lovemaking on the way out.


    ¡°¡­We may have a problem. The Countess escaped. And robbed me of the satisfaction of punishing the Peltons myself.¡±


    Vexing, but their lives are as good a drop in the storm as any other.


    ¡°What about the Countess? I thought you said she¡¯s important?¡±


    She did not go far¡­She¡­wait¡­what is that?


    Before Civorage could ask, Iaka went rigid and bit back a shriek as the magic around her flared anew. She fought it under control, but just for a second, in the uncontroled surging, Civorage caught a glimpse of what she was sensing.


    And he knew that, somehow, the plan had gone very wrong.


    <hr>


    <blockquote>


    ¡°To my lasting regret, of course, my visit to the Yunei Empire never took me beyond their great gate. I have heard many stories of the Imperial Palace, however. To hear Yunei exiles and refugees describe it, the palace covers such a broad footprint and contains so many people that it would be counted a good-sized town or perhaps even a small city among the Garanese. One wonders if any foreigner will ever enjoy the opportunity to explore its halls and learn its secrets¡­ ¡ªPrince Ruber of Valai, My Travels.


    </blockquote>


    <h2>Muster and Parade</h2>


    The Imperial Palace, Yonguitang Earthmote 09.06.03.12.12


    It had been a long time since the Imperial Army had mustered. Hundreds of years, certainly. In fact, if the Emperor knew his family¡¯s history, the last time had been three hundred and six years prior, when his esteemed ancestor had been compelled to put down a rebellion in Go Xong Province. And that had been considered a shockingly proactive act for the Enlightened One: under normal circumstances, the Emperor neither mustered nor commanded; instead his loyal lords and subjects mustered and commanded on his behalf.


    There would be no controversy this time. When the Crowns themselves came seeking the Yunei people¡¯s military aid, how could it be Proper for anyone but the Emperor to muster troops under his own banner.


    It was an astonishing sight. The palace¡¯s grand parade ground was vast, the largest walled-in space in all the Nested Worlds according to Prince Sayf. And still it was crowded right to the edges with neat rectangles of men, arranged so closely together that there was scarcely room for two horses to ride in opposite directions between them. As the Emperor watched, the nearest rank delivered their salute to him and to Prince Sayf by removing their helmets, thrusting them in the air and uttering a united cry of ¡°Strength! Courage! Unity! Perfection!¡± before, in complete unison, effecting a perfect left-face and marching in file to wheel around the corner and back toward the ground¡¯s water gate and exit. As soon as they were gone, the next set of platoons would step forward to deliver the same salute, and so on.


    The Emperor bowed to each and every one. He was under no illusions about what he was asking of these soldiers. They were leaving the Empire and the earthmote of their birth to fight on foreign soil, and he had been shown what Garanese war looked like. Cannons and mortars were one thing, but his brave spearmen and archers were going up against lines of men armed with rifles that could shoot twice as fast as even the best archers, at better than twice the range.


    That had been a sobering vision. Prince Sayf had shown him a historical battle from some forty years previously, at a place called ¡°Snake River,¡± and the Emperor had shivered to see so many men cut down so quickly by the disciplined volleys of fire that thundered back and forth between their clashing lines.


    His soldiers were unprepared for such warfare. They were unprepared to face any Garanese army in the field. In the city, though¡­


    FIghting in the city would be bloody, but winnable. The enemy did not have enough men there to stand against the Yunei. But after they had liberated it would come the war against the other lords of Garanhir, the ¡°Dukes.¡± And for that¡­


    Prince Sayf did something that no mortal would normally do: he laid a comforting hand on the Emperor¡¯s shoulder. ¡°You have regrets?¡±


    ¡°¡­Wishes, perhaps. A wish for more time.¡±


    ¡°Ah, time.¡± The Crown nodded. ¡°It is because of time that we are in this predicament, yes?¡±


    ¡°Too much time spent secure in our own superiority. I have¡­never been more truly powerful than I am in this moment. And yet also I see how powerless my past predicament made us all.¡±


    ¡°Your ¡®past predicament¡¯ was part of the very thing that has given your people the opportunity to stand and fight at all. It is a strategy that paid off, in its way. Do not lament it, even though the time has come to discard it.¡±


    ¡°Still, if I had the power to step back as this one you spoke of does¡­¡±


    ¡°My son¡­look at me. Power is the very nature of what I am, yes? And I count as deep friend one who is at least as far beyond me as I am beyond a beetle in a pond. We have not acted, until now. He has restrained his hand, whose hand can do all but anything with a mere thought. There are reasons for our restraint.¡± He patted the Emperor¡¯s shoulder again. ¡°Trust in that, my son. We are neither perfect nor gods, but we are far from unwise or unaware. Always is your good in our minds.¡±


    They paused to bow to the next platoon.


    ¡°Our good will mean many of their deaths.¡±


    ¡°It will.¡±


    ¡°It will be a great tragedy.¡±


    ¡°So it always must be, in war. Death, however, is not the end.¡±


    ¡°This, I already knew,¡± the Emperor gently reminded him.


    ¡°Of course.¡± Sayf inclined his head subtly, both in acknowledgment and to remind him that there were other ears listening.


    The conversation was set aside for a time, as ranks of men came forward, saluted, and departed until at last the parade square was empty save for the fading echoes of platoon captains shouting their men into whatever maneuvers awaited them beyond the gates. The Emperor sighed and, playing the cordial host, gestured behind them through the great doors toward the gardens.


    The King of Crowns was holding a court of his own amidst the splendor of the Imperial garden. He had found a particularly bent and venerable fig tree on the shores of an ornamental lake, and was seated cross-legged among its roots. The air around him shimmered, though this was far too small a word to describe the effect as seen from outside. For many man-heights in every direction, the world about the Greatest One seemed¡­more, somehow. The Emperor must have seen and sat beneath that tree himself a hundred times, and yet he could not ever remember seeing it look quite so much a tree as it did in that moment. Its leaves seemed more lustrous and green, its trunk more gnarled and elderly. Without any change at all, that fig tree had become a paragon example of itself. The faintest hint of rainbow light played and rippled in the boundary between this smaller, lesser, weaker world, and the bubble of greatness in which King E?rrach had wrapped himself.


    The Emperor knew some of the truth of it, now; in the presence of the King of Crowns, reality in the deepest sense of the word was far, far more actual.


    Seated in a half-circle about King E?rrach were the Emperor¡¯s chosen generals, all very Proper and proven men whom he trusted. They were leaders of supreme dignity and gravity in their own right, but in front of the Crown they seemed as novices again, sitting at their giant master¡¯s feet to hear wisdom and take instruction.


    Instruction they were certainly receiving.


    ¡°Airships are not immune to the weapons you have, General Liung. A trebuchet loaded with a fire pot will pose a great threat to them, though it must be aimed upwards and forward of the ship¡¯s path. Heavy bed crossbows likewise, especially if they are loaded with harpoons to snag and tear the bags. It is not the hopeless fight you fear, though I will not pretend they shall be easy prey for your siege troops. Fortunately, the enemy do not have many, and there are some they will certainly choose to withdraw rather than risk.¡±


    As General Liung bowed low in gratitude, the Emperor became aware that the Lady of Mists and Queen Winter were also present, though they had seated themselves quietly in the background of this meeting. Though, as he had already learned, Lady Haust in particular had a habit of choosing to cease being here and suddenly be there whenever the fancy took her. She caught his gaze¡ªif, indeed, that was possible through her opaque veil¡ªinclined her head with a small smile, and leaned forward to whisper in King E?rrach¡¯s ear.


    The King of Crowns glanced up at the new arrivals, and nodded. ¡°The parade is over, my friends. It is time for you to go to your armies and put into effect these things we discussed.¡±


    He nodded and extended the shimmer around the Emperor. As always, the disconcerting feeling of impossible amplification from within washed over and through his very body and soul. The King being what he was, it was far, far easier to bring others closer to his level of being than it was to condescend down toward their own.


    At the same moment E?rrach did the reverse for the departing generals, all of whom¡­seemed somehow vastly less now by comparison. The Emperor knew that if he were to lay even the gentlest touch on any of them as he was now, the force of it would obliterate them completely.


    ¡°I always did like this tree,¡± he commented instead as he sat down. ¡°I planted its sapling in my first incarnation. It pleases me that you find it so agreeable, my lord.¡±


    The difference in stature was almost as a towering Enerlish sitting next to his toddling babe, to say nothing of all the rest. Yet E?rrach was friendly, and spoke as with a valued companion.


    ¡°Men have been sitting under trees such as this and seeking enlightenment since before even I was born,¡± he commented, glancing up at it with more than a little fondness. ¡°The ancient symbology you invoke by this fig of all things is¡­¡± the King rumbled in amusement. ¡°Oh, how I ache to tell all the old stories!¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s hardly an accident,¡± Lord Sayf pointed out, settling down beside him. ¡°You¡¯re the one who wove those old stories into the fabric and image of it all. You can¡¯t claim surprise when echoes of them come popping up.¡±


    ¡°Of course I did!¡± E?rrach laughed heartily. ¡°How could I have hoped to improve on the old masterwork? And yet, all men are free, are they not? Do they not choose their actions?¡±


    ¡°Not free from sentiment. And yours is powerful, old friend.¡±


    ¡°What about him isn¡¯t?¡± Queen Talvi commented, with a faint twinkle of mischief in her blue eyes.


    ¡°His sense of modesty, for a start¡­¡±


    ¡°Ha!¡± He was, of course, as minimally clad as was Proper for a hunter and athlete of his unassailable stature¡­


    Even the Emperor laughed. It was quite impossible not to, nor was there any reason to restrain himself. He was in the company of friends who had been friends for¡­well, forever. And the love between them was as obvious as it was infectious. By whatever ultimate reasons they had, they chose to include him in their circle, and that was a gift quite beyond expectation.


    At least, until the moment when the merriment ended as sharply and unpleasantly as jumping into an ice-cold bath. All four of the Crowns turned as one and raised their faces to the sky, their gazes piercing haze and cloud to stare up at Garanhir. After a few seconds, Prince Sayf uttered the restrained ¡°hmm¡­¡± of a man who had just encountered an unexpected inconvenience.


    ¡°¡­My Lords and Ladies?¡±


    ¡°One moment, please.¡± The four glanced at each other. The Emperor got the distinct impression of a conversation happening in those glances, one he was not exactly excluded from, merely one that passed too quickly for him to even notice before it was over.


    ¡°I think it must be you, Winter. Like before.¡±


    The Queen of Ice rose to her feet, dusting off her skirts with a resigned sigh. ¡°I think so, yes.¡±


    ¡°Then go with my blessing.¡± With that curious formality, the King laid his brutish hands delicately atop her head¡­and power flowed forth from him into her, unseen but felt. So much of it, it seemed to the Emperor as if his very soul might be blown away as smoke from the sheer force of its movement.


    Queen Talvi winced, as one enduring a great but momentary suffering, but she gave no complaint. She simply bowed politely to the Emperor in the manner of a friend who must unexpectedly take her leave, then stepped behind the tree and vanished as though it were a gatepost.


    E?rrach looked down at him with a sad expression on his impossibly handsome face. ¡°I have bolstered her strength against some nasty possibilities now afoot,¡± he explained.


    ¡°What has happened?¡±


    The three lingering Crowns exchanged another one of those conversations-at-a-glance. This time, it was Lady Haust who spoke. Beneath her cowl, the set of her lips was thin, grim and troubled.


    ¡°A Word of Creation has been spoken,¡± she said.


    <hr>


    <h2>Seeing too much</h2>


    Crow Vale, Enerlend 09.06.03.12.12


    On any other day, in any other state of mind, she might have endured it. But today Adrey¡¯s sanity, was already drawn right to its breaking point by days of torment and perverse seduction.


    It couldn¡¯t survive what the Word revealed.


    Nothing was real. Nothing. There was no such thing as reality, no such thing as solid ground or the breeze or light. It was all just¡­pretending at being real, waiting lazily until compelled by circumstance to be¡­and then, like an idle layabout worker, doing only the bare necessary minimum before returning to sullen nothingness.


    She spun and whirled, searched with tears streaming down her cheeks for anything, anything solid enough to grasp and hold onto, but there was nothing at all. The whole universe was just¡­lies. Lies, and a game of terrible weighted dice.


    On and on it went, deeper and deeper. Her own body, her own mind, just an endless dance of collapsing waves, everything, everything everything!


    Nothing Kal and Mari had done to her had been half so terrible a torment. The Word tore away every comfortable delusion she¡¯d ever had about the world, shredded them and tossed them to the breeze. She collapsed to her nonexistent knees in mud that was nothing more than a pretense, felt a heart that wasn¡¯t real hammer and pound illusory blood through her head. She couldn¡¯t breathe. The air wasn¡¯t real, but she couldn¡¯t get enough of it!


    She shoved her fingers against her temples, trying to claw the Word back out of her brain, but it was too late. She knew, now. She knew that everything she had ever seen, touched, tasted, scented, felt and heard was just the momentary tipping of scales, and she could see the exquisite balance of those scales. In every moment and in every detail, she saw them tip and balance, deciding between endless possibilities and settling on what, for the briefest of instants, became the illusion of truth.


    But that wasn¡¯t what destroyed her.


    The worst part was seeing the hand on the scales.


    <hr>


    <h2>Running through the back alleys</h2>


    Auldenheigh 09.06.03.12.12


    The hunters first found them as they darted across the road from alleyway to alleyway, somewhere in Stone Circles. Mutt paused to wave Sadie across, then¡ª


    Sadie would never forget the sound of it. The meaty thump of steel and wood thudding to a stop in his flesh. The choked, strangled cough he emitted as the impact drove all the air from his lungs. She saw the look on his face as he blinked down at the arrow protruding from his ribs, the confused way he reached up and touched it.


    Then Skinner grabbed her and dragged her out of the street. She heard Mutt collapse behind her, glanced back, saw he was still struggling for life¡ª


    ¡°He¡¯s still¡ª!¡±


    ¡°No ¡®e¡¯s not! Run!¡±


    He dragged her down alleyways and through back yards, under market awnings and along colonnades. Sadie had never run so fast nor so long in her life, and every step became a miracle. Her breath was ragged and hot in her lungs, her legs felt like sacks of porridge, but she didn¡¯t dare allow herself to falter.


    Time passed. Was it minutes or hours? No way of knowing. There was nothing but the blur of flight and fear, and endless tight spaces rushing past while her body begged for mercy. Every so often she caught a glimpse of dark figures on the rooftops, and arrows would come raining down to clack among their ankles or clatter off the stones in front of them.


    She finally collapsed when Skinner slowed and stopped. He too was spent, and he leaned against the wall with his skinny chest heaving. Sadie had never felt so sick or so beaten: she folded up on the ground and trembled, expecting that any second she¡¯d feel the fatal sting of an arrow.


    It didn¡¯t come. Eventually she mustered the strength to look around and saw that they were among the hanging cloths at the back of dyer¡¯s. All she saw in every direction were fabrics in red and blue. No rooftops. No arrows. It was, for only a moment, a brief respite.


    Skinner didn¡¯t seem to view it as a relief. He was already pacing like a caged beast, his face alive with the effort of thinking.


    ¡°We¡¯re bein¡¯ ¡®erded,¡± he commented as Sadie staggered to her feet. ¡°Pushed somewhere.¡±


    ¡°We are?¡±


    ¡°Oh, aye. They¡¯re keepin¡¯ us trapped against th¡¯ river, pushin¡¯ us dexter.¡±


    ¡°But¡­if they¡¯re herding us, doesn¡¯t that mean they want us alive? Can¡¯t we just not go the way they want us to?¡±


    ¡°They won¡¯t just let us go, lass. If they can¡¯t ¡®ave us where they want us, they¡¯ll murder us.¡±


    ¡°So¡­we just do what they want?¡±


    ¡°Believe me, I¡¯d rather not¡­¡±


    An arrow thumped into the wooden post of a dying rack a few inches from Sadie¡¯s head. Despite the leaden weight of her legs, she flinced away from it with a yelp, only for a second arrow to judder to a halt right next to her, this time in the doorpost. The message was clear: ¡®we can kill you any time we like.¡¯


    ¡°¡­Fuck. Break¡¯s over,¡± Skinner groaned. ¡°C¡¯mon. I¡¯ll get us out of this yet¡­¡±


    Sadie wanted to tell him not to make promises he couldn¡¯t keep, but she spared her breath. Instead, she got moving again.


    Above her, the elves skipped from rooftop to rooftop in eerie silence.


    <hr>


    <h2>Herded</h2>


    Auldenheigh 09.06.03.12.12


    Wallgate road. Everyone who lived in the city knew it. It ought to have been, as it was at all other times, an artery flowing with Clear Skies troops or barricaded by them against the civilian militias. Instead, Jed limped down it as fast as his aching limbs could go. The elves jogged alongside him like sheepdogs trotting alongside a compliant ram. He¡¯d almost have felt better if they would taunt him, prod him, make sport with him, but¡­no.


    No, the creepy fuckers didn¡¯t have that much personality. There was something¡­insect-like about them. You couldn¡¯t tell one from another, and not just in the commonplace way of one man struggling to tell folks of a different ethnicity apart. No, these elves were identical in almost every detail. Even their bodies, skyclad as they were, betrayed almost nothing in the way of difference unless one took far too close a look.


    Identical unfeeling black eyes watched him from identical expressionless grey faces framed by identical dark hair. Each one wore an identical harness to carry their blades, bow and quivers, and identical pouches for provisions and suchlike. They were as alike as blades of grass, as different as leaves on the same branch.


    All except the masked one. That one wore armor of boiled leather and fine chain over padded backings of fur, but the armor and the mask were both designed to make them utterly anonymous. Whatever extra personality they¡¯d kept over their peers¡­Jed couldn¡¯t really see it. But there was a wicked streak there. A malicious reminder that this was an elf, a fey. They weren¡¯t a nice and cuddly race. They were folk whose idea of entertainment, upon a time, had been to skin some poor bastard alive. And the masked one gave the impression of not having changed much in that regard.


    It was all Jed could do to pray that he wasn¡¯t wheezing his way toward a similar fate as he staggered down Wallgate Road, weaving between abandoned wagons and carriages. A tram lay knocked off the rails, skewed drunkenly across the carriageway by the force of what must have been an airship¡¯s broadside, and its innards were still boiling with sooty black-edged flame. Some poor bugger lolled half out of the wreckage, and their blackened bones dripped burning fat down the blistered paintwork onto what remained of some other anonymous victim. The stink and sight of it made Bothroyd retch, and he dropped to his hands and knees as his midriff spasmed in disgust.


    ¡°You¡¯ll all¡­bloody pay¡­for this¡­¡± he wheezed at his masked tormentor. The elf didn¡¯t reply beyond setting a hand pointedly to its weapon. Jed shook his head. ¡°Fuck you. I¡¯m done bein¡¯ your plaything.¡±


    ¡°Then we shall return to that arcade and finish what we started,¡± the elf replied. It turned and started to lope back in the direction they¡¯d come, and Jed groaned as he knew he was beaten.


    ¡°No¡­wait¡­¡±


    They didn¡¯t stop.


    ¡°Wait!¡± He lurched to his feet and did his best to keep running. ¡°Just leave ¡®em alone!¡±


    The masked elf made a curt flicking gesture, and they fell in around him again.


    ¡°The next time you defy me in any degree, they will die. Uka kenasir?¡±


    ¡°¡­I understand.¡±


    ¡°Adequate. Now run. Don¡¯t worry, fat one: it isn¡¯t far now.¡±


    Jed put his head down and kept moving. ¡°Very bloody reassuring¡­¡± he muttered.


    ¡°Was that defiance I just heard?¡± the elf asked. When Jed decided the wisest reply was silence, they nodded and goaded him onwards with a swat from a discarded riding crop they¡¯d picked up.


    They passed the shattered remains of Banmor Bridge. What had once been a fair and wide span high enough to not impede any of the usual river traffic was now a pair of sad, broken abutments on opposite sides of the water, and two divorced piles still jutting up from among the toppled stone bricks. There had been a barricade on that bridge not too long ago, made from whatever its builders could pile up: park benches, garden railings, furniture, an overturned wagon. Now, it was a smouldering heap of ashes, charred metal, and corpses.


    Up ahead, the Bluewater Bridge was still intact, and Jed guessed it must be their destination. All the other bridges were upriver behind him, and Wallgate Road ran on in an almost straight line right to the other end of Garanhir. Somehow, he doubted they were going to make him stumble all the way to Frudlend.


    His prediction was proven correct when the masked elf gave him a swat to goad him up the bridge as they drew level. He groaned as he saw what was coming the other way. More elves. And, stumbling along in front of them in sweat-soaked shirtsleeves, the skinny, tattooed figure of Skinner.


    There was a young lady with him. Jed had never met Sadie Peason before, but he guessed it could be no-one else. She had that same upper-middle class look as all the tenants at Miss Brooknetter¡¯s house, and she also looked near-dead from exhaustion, and grimly determined to remain upright despite terror that was making her tremble from head to toe.


    They met in the middle of the bridge, where Skinner gave him a resigned, stoic look. ¡°¡­¡¯Ey up, Jed.¡±


    ¡°Got you too, then,¡± Bothroyd noted.


    ¡°Got th¡¯ whole bloody city, ¡®aven¡¯t they?¡±


    ¡°What are they going to do with us?¡± Sadie quavered. Jed sighed, feeling a pang of guilt and grief on her behalf. Somewhere out there, he had grandchildren of about the same age. Crowns, let them be alright.


    ¡°We are going to kill you, of course,¡± The masked elf stated, flatly. A quirk of their head betrayed some irritation at Sadie¡¯s fearful whimper. ¡°It is your lot. You are human. You die. The best your ephemeral kind can ask for is a swift, painless and meaningful death. That is what we shall grant you.¡±


    ¡°Seems to me like you¡¯re givin¡¯ us a reason to not go quietly,¡± Skinner pointed out, in an oddly mild tone. He fished inside his vest and produced a tobacco pouch.


    ¡°You will. If you do not, I will see to it that she suffers.¡± The elf indicated Sadie, who burst into tears.


    Skinner started thumbing leaf into a short clay pipe. ¡°So. What¡¯re you waitin¡¯ for?¡± he asked.


    ¡°The fourth sacrifice. The countess.¡±


    Sacrifice. Jed caught Skinner¡¯s eye, and saw equal comprehension there. This wasn¡¯t just some game of sadism on the elves¡¯ part, this was purposeful. And the masked one had spoken about their deaths being meaningful, somehow.


    Skinner thumbed some more tobacco into his pipe. ¡°You need all four of us, then?¡±


    Several of the elves blurred. One moment, they were standing a good distance away. The next they were holding Skinner, Bothroyd and Sadie tight, their hands clamped tight around their jaws and squeezing it open. One of them shoved their fingers in Jed¡¯s mouth, dug around among his teeth, and eventually retreated without finding anything. Sadie¡¯s likewise gave up empty-handed and dropped the sobbing girl to the deck. Only Skinner¡¯s backed away with a suicide pill pinched delicately between thumb and forefinger.


    ¡°¡­Indeed,¡± the masked one said, as the pill was tossed over the side and into the Heigh.


    ¡°Ugh¡­fuck.¡± Skinner watched the pill go ruefully. ¡°Wasn¡¯t gonna use it anyhow. Not if it¡¯ll cost the lass ¡®er dignity.¡±


    ¡°Having the sense to spare her needless suffering is the only intelligence you have yet shown.¡± The elf hopped up on the bridge¡¯s wall and arranged themselves comfortably. ¡°Why resist the coming peace? Why fight to prolong your suffering? Senseless.¡±


    Skinner tamped down his pipe and took out a matchbook. ¡°Suffering ain¡¯t real,¡± he said. ¡°It¡¯s jus¡¯ a state of mind. You endure it, you overcome it, you grow stronger. You¡¯re not savin¡¯ us from aught, you¡¯re just murderin¡¯ us all in a fancy way an¡¯ claimin¡¯ you¡¯l get to feel good about it after.¡±


    ¡°Course, you¡¯d feel good about it anyway, wouldn¡¯t you?¡± Jed added. ¡°You¡¯re an old elf, ain¡¯tcha? DIdn¡¯t learn your lesson last time, even though the Crowns themselves beat it into you?¡±


    Whatever philosophical argument was about to ensue was supposed to be a distraction. Maybe the elves just didn¡¯t know what they were looking at, maybe they had no idea what TNT was. It was the only way to explain how they could have missed the parcels of it sewn into Skinner¡¯s vest. There was certainly enough of it there to blast the three humans instantly and painlessly out of this life and deny these buggers their sacrifice. Jed kept his expression solemn and turned his eyes downward as Skinner lit the match and started to puff up his pipe. He wouldn¡¯t give the elves any hint or warning. If they were dead anyway¡­better this way.


    But the detonation never came.


    There was a new bloom of light in the sky, but unlike to all the explosions that had marked the day up until this point. This one was brilliant, blinding, and oddly hued. Pinks and greens flickered and tore wildly up from somewhere out in the city, struck one of the Clear Skies airships and¡ª


    ¡ªand¡­removed it. The ship reeled and lurched under an assault of crackling power, then simply ceased to be. **There was a hint of dust blowing away on the breeze, and then the sound of its demise reached them. It was a rumble, a crackle, a boom, a roar and an inhumanly loud hysterical shriek all rolled into one. It was an insane sound that began as a subterranean jolt before climbing up through the entire range of human hearing with enough force to leave the ears feeling like they were packed with cloth. Skinner dropped his match involuntarily to clamp his hands over his ears, just like Sadie and Jed and all the elves.


    It was only the beginning. A dazzling mote of light shot into the air, shedding a sphere of misty concussion as it did so. Jed saw the shockwave rippling out into the sky, watched it smash roof tiles, shatter windows and sweep down the river in a frothy spray.


    He flung himself flat just in time. The violence of its passing was like nothing he¡¯d experienced or dreamed, though he didn¡¯t hear it. Instead, he felt it as a hammer-blow in every fibre of his weary body, and in its aftermath something wet tickled down his cheeks to mingle with his sideburns. When he touched it, his fingers came away red.


    Skinner was trying to say something, but he sounded like he was shouting through a mile of mattress down. His pointing finger drew Jed¡¯s gaze, though: the spark was above them now, and even as he watched it reached out a whip of seething lightning as vibrant red as a brothel¡¯s window light that left behind black voids in the air. A number of these clustered briefly around another airship, like tapioca pearls: the ship was wrenched apart with a violence that staggered Jed¡¯s soul, and the splinters fell into those terrible wounds in reality like leaves being drawn into a storm drain before they snapped close.


    Then the spark descended among them, and Jed could do nothing more than stare in mute, stupid awe.


    Adrey Mossjoy alighted on the bridge with a staggering crash that fractured the stones for yards all around her. But it wasn¡¯t Adrey as Bothroyd had last seen her. The last time he¡¯d seen an expression like that had been some crazy fool who¡¯d taken a whole cocktail of experimental drugs and decided to fight everyone and everything in the worlds. It had taken one officer per limb to finally restrain him.


    Adrey had that same look. She was not at home to reason or sanity, now. Her movements were stumbling, slow and jerky, a far cry from her usual dancer¡¯s poise, and her eyes were hollow, sunken and yet wild with paranoia. They fixed on Jed, then passed on as if there was no actual thought behind them, only an animal selection process.


    They settled instead on the astonished elves, and her gaze un-made them.


    Jed turned his face away, but not quite fast enough. The vision of that last tormented second of the masked elf¡¯s existence was burned behind his eyelids in purple and green now, but he doubted he¡¯d ever quite be able to describe it. They were elves, they¡¯d be back eventually, but¡­


    But something about what he¡¯d seen made him doubt whether these ones would return.


    When he reopened his eyes, Adrey had stumbled away across the bridge, casting her friends only the barest glance without acknowledgement, before raising her hands and pointing. This time, her target was the Ring of Eternity, whose captain seemed to have caught on that there was some devastating force at work in Auldenheigh. The ship¡¯s many great engines were going full tilt, driving her forward with impressive acceleration for something so huge, but it was futile. A fist made of ethereally-hued lightning clenched around it, and Jed couldn¡¯t tell whether the blast that tore the huge Oneist flagship apart was Adrey¡¯s doing, or the detonation of its magazine.


    She didn¡¯t stop there, though. Now the power was crackling out of Adrey¡¯s skin at random, earthing itself on nearby statues and reducing them to slag, arcing upriver to reduce what remained of Banmor Bridge to a steaming field of fractured glass. Sadie shrieked and curled into a tight ball as one sizzling finger of Adrey¡¯s wild magic scored along the cobbles within a foot of her and left behind a trench full of fine dust.


    Jed tried to stagger toward the Countess, certain he¡¯d never survive getting close to her. Adrey was haloed in power now and it was cracking the flagstones, making cast iron lampposts dribble like candlewax. He tried to shout to her, but couldn¡¯t tell if his voice was lost in the thunder of her presence, or if he was just stone deaf. The temperature plummeted as he waded toward her, fighting through the stinging burn¡­until he realized he wasn¡¯t moving at all.


    ¡°It¡¯s alright,¡± a soft voice told him, and a cool, slender hand with skin as delicate as old vellum rested lightly on his shoulder. The touch was followed by a grandmotherly kiss on the cheek and suddenly all of Jed¡¯s fatigue and pain was gone. He felt whole and refreshed again¡­and protected.


    Queen Talvi smiled at him. ¡°I have her,¡± she said, and stepped lightly past Jed and through the thundering waves of devastation as though they were a light breeze. She raised her hand and the mad destruction arcing off Adrey¡¯s body struck her palm. Adrey turned toward her with her teeth bared in a feral psychotic snarl, and Jed grimaced as all around them the bridge endured a terrible savaging. Statues and lampposts flipped away like reeds in a storm, stone cracked and glowed, but still Talvi glided on with infinite serene poise.


    Adrey faltered, cowereing back and putting up her arms to shade her face as though the Crown was blinding bright, but Talvi lowered her hand, spread her arms, wrapped them around her, and drew her into an embrace.


    Jed was close enough to hear what she said, or perhaps she allowed it to be heard. She rocked Adrey like a mother comforting a distressed toddler, stroked her hair, and crooned softly in her ear. ¡°It¡¯s alright, dear. It¡¯s alright. You¡¯re safe now¡­¡±


    By degrees, the storm subsided. Underneath its racket, he heard choking, terrified sobs. He¡¯d never imagined he¡¯d see Adrey of all people so broken.


    ¡°Make it stop¡­¡± Adrey buried her face in the Crown¡¯s breast and groaned pitiably. ¡°Make it real again, please!¡±


    Talvi made a soft ¡°ohhh¡± sound that spoke of boundless sympathy. No, more than sympathy¡ªunderstanding. As though she¡¯d been through this very thing herself, long ago.


    ¡°Shhh¡­.shh darling. It¡¯s okay,¡± she said, and continued to stroke Adrey¡¯s hair. Unconditional love rolled off her in a gentle flood, no less overpowering than the destructive energies of a moment before but far more wholesome. ¡°You¡¯re not ready to understand it all yet, I know. You need to forget, beloved. I¡¯ll help you forget¡­¡±


    She kissed the top of Adrey¡¯s head. A last few feeble sparks arced off Adrey¡¯s fingertips into the cobblestones, flickered, failed, and the world at last became still and silent.


    Well¡­no. Not silent at all. When Jed looked away to give them some privacy, he could see that every airship in the sky was burning and crashing. Many had already impacted, and their blazing wreckage had come smashing down among the buildings, razing entire streets to rubble.


    Even so, there was a stillness to the scene. The gunfire that had formed the background noise of Auldenheigh all day was now silent. The devastattion Adrey had wrought in those few terrifying seconds had shocked the whole city into peace.


    Adrey¡¯s sobbing hitched in her throat, then became a sigh of the most profound relief. And then¡­she was asleep. Or fainted dead away. One or the other. Talvi lowered her gracefully to the ground and rested Adrey¡¯s head in her lap to run her pale, slim fingers affectionately through her hair.


    ¡°There,¡± she hummed, softly. ¡°Sleep. Sleep and forget. When you awake, you¡¯ll remember only what you need¡­¡±


    ¡°Milady Crown¡­¡± Skinner ventured. Talvi looked up and him and smiled gently, but touched a finger to her lips.


    ¡°Will¡­will she be alright?¡± Sadie asked, venturing to kneel by Adrey.


    ¡°She will, dear girl.¡±


    Sadie took Adrey¡¯s hand. ¡°What happened to her?¡±


    Talvi sighed. ¡°Cruelty.¡±


    ¡°I¡­¡± Sadie¡¯s eyes teared up, not out of fear any longer, but out of concern for a woman she hardly knew.


    Talvi¡¯s own pale eyes were no less full of sorrow. ¡°She was shown what she was not ready for, at the moment when she was weakest. It was more than she could bear.¡± She stroked Adrey¡¯s brow once more, then gently transfered her into Sadie¡¯s lap instead. ¡°Do not think less of her. Older and wiser minds have fared worse in the same trial. Take care of her.¡±


    Sadie was trembling, but she nodded.


    ¡°Is there aught else you¡¯ll do for us, Queen?¡± Skinner asked.


    Talvi shook her head, though she did at least look sorrowful. ¡°I have healed what was beyond any human power to mend, and that is the only action the Crowns permit ourselves. The rest must be in your hands.¡±


    ¡°¡­Lots to do,¡± Jed commented, still watching the fires and ruin.


    ¡°You will have help. Soon.¡± Talvi rose gracefully to her feet. ¡°Take heart. Allies are coming.¡±


    ¡°Which allies, Milady Crown?¡±


    Talvi¡¯s only reply was a small smile, and then she was¡­gone. A cool breeze blew across the bridge and she went with it, vanishing from their sight neither suddenly nor gradually, but just as if they¡¯d stopped paying attention for a few seconds and she had slipped away while they were distracted.


    ¡°¡­What did she mean by that?¡± Sadie asked, clearly still a bit shell-shocked and tremulous.


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure,¡± Jed mused, contemplating Adrey¡¯s slumbering form for a moment. The poor girl looked gaunt and badly used, and she was wearing clothes that weren¡¯t hers, too generous in the hip and bust. Just what had she endured?


    Questions for later. ¡°We¡¯d best get out th¡¯ streets before it gets busy out here,¡± he advised.


    ¡°Right,¡± Skinner agreed. ¡°C¡¯mon, lass. Let¡¯s get ¡®er up an¡¯ somewhere safe¡­¡±


    ¡°R-right.¡±


    They hoisted Adrey up, draped her between them, and started back toward the leading end of the bridge. None of them were moving fast, being too tired, too strained, and too frankly amazed at their own survival to exert themselves further. But Adrey¡¯s fireworks seemed to have put a stop to everything, and though nobody seemed ready to emerge from their shelters just yet, neither did it seem there was to be any further fighting today. For the first time in Jed¡¯s life, Auldenheigh was silent as they limped back home.


    He hoped and prayed that meant the battle was over.


    He suspected the war had only just begun.

 Chapter 22: The Settling Dust

    <blockquote>


    One facet of modern life notably absent from all records and recollections of the Ordfey is any mention of Eclipse or the Shades. Surviving friezes and bas-reliefs from that era never depict the Fey wearing a vamdraech, and human slaves were explicitly forbidden from learning or practicing magic¡ªa prohibition which would have made it much more difficult for the Ordfey to adequately light their dwellings for shadeproofing. The only conclusion that can be drawn is that the Shades first appeared sometime after the empire¡¯s fall. ¡ªDenrick Roth, Shades


    </blockquote>


    <h2>Suffering from a setback</h2>


    Forsaken Citadel, the Unbroken Earthmote 09.06.03.12.12


    The first jumbled, slow thought to wallow up in Nils Civorage¡¯s mind was that he was, in fact, not dead.


    No, he was in far too much pain for that. Mind had granted him a much closer look at the threshold of death than most men ever got to see without crossing over it themselves, and to die was, it seemed, really quite a peaceful event. Certainly, it didn¡¯t hurt. On the contrary, the last thing ever experienced by the minds he¡¯d watched pass had been a sense of release and relief as all pain and discomfort fell away.


    It occured to him, in the sluggish and wallowing way of an overladen airship rising slowly but doggedly under an underinflated bag, that if he was thinking such thoughts, then he must also be conscious. Unconscious people were not so introspective.


    He got a grip on himself, flexing the power of his Word to blast out the daze fogging his brain, and lurched back into full and sober clarity with a sharp hiss of pain.


    That. Had. Hurt.


    ¡°What in the everloving fuck was that?¡± he asked, as he clambered to his feet, ignoring the seething sting in every muscle and bone.


    Within her column of light, Lady Iaka leaned heavily on the back of her throne. She seemed just as pained as he felt, weary and haggard. He¡¯d never have imagined she could ever look so weakened. ¡°I¡­would have thought¡­¡± she croaked, ¡°that you would recognize¡­a Word of Creation when you saw one.¡±


    ¡°Which one, though?¡± Nils wondered. He reached out, seeking the disembodied remnants of thought and instinct that would be the slain Left and Right hands and their cadre of Nornfey. Their signatures were familiar to him, as it had been they who first taught him how to steer aside from mortal death. A skill he had never yet actually been called upon to use, but he knew they would benefit from his help in restoring themselves.


    Such was Lady Iaka¡¯s gift to her faithful, changed elves. Rather than the whole slow, senselessly inefficient business of rebirth, childhood and recollection, the Nornfey wove new bodies for themselves out of shadow and the very substance of the earthmotes, borrowing from the same deep and obscure magic that sustained the Shades.


    He frowned. His thoughts and awareness groped blindly for them, but found nothing.


    ¡°¡­They are dead, aren¡¯t they?¡± he asked. ¡°I know they are, the backlash¡ª¡±


    ¡°They are gone.¡±


    ¡°Gone?¡±


    Iaka wheezed as she slumped into her throne. ¡°In just the same way as a human. Complete decoherence of their...¡± she panted, mopped her brow, and then gave Civorage a deeply troubled look. ¡°Fey souls are bound to this reality, held within it; in their case, the bindings were cut. Whatever it is that happens to your kind, has happened to them.¡± **


    Nils gawped at her. ¡°How¡­which Word could grant that power?¡±


    Iaka shook her head. ¡°I can think of a few candidates. But, I don¡¯t know. For Adrey Mossjoy to have spoken any of them is¡­a troubling development.¡± She sighed and looked about her. ¡°¡­If I had not had the power of this Lodehead to draw from, the backlash through the psychic link might well have destroyed us as well. But¡­I can feel it has faded. Either the Wordspeaker destroyed herself, or¡ª¡±


    ¡°Or the Crowns stepped in,¡± Civorage finished glumly. He wandered the room checking on the other fallen figures about him, the blissful few of Iaka¡¯s Circle. All were unconscious, though he was pleased to find none were dead.


    ¡°I suspect so. They are no longer as passive as I had counted on.¡± Iaka massaged her face. ¡°Still¡­it is done.¡±


    Civorage paused and gave her a sharp look. ¡°You mean¡­the curse? I thought¡ªyou said breaking it would require great sacrifice.¡±


    ¡°We have sacrificed our left and right hands, we have sacrificed all our operation in Auldenheigh. We may have sacrificed our grip on all of Enerlend and all Garanhir if the Crowns¡¯ lackeys are sharp and ready. We have sacrificed very much indeed, beloved.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not the sacrifice we wanted to make, though.¡±


    ¡°Not at all. Far more than we intended.¡± Iaka sat back and took a deep breath. ¡°But the fact the loss was painful makes it a more powerful offering, not less. It was¡­sufficient, I think.¡±


    Civorage glanced down at his palms. ¡°¡­You think? You aren¡¯t sure?¡±


    ¡°Magic of this sort is complex and subtle, dear heart. And Thaighn Saoirse practiced it with a skill I can hardly believe. How she mastered the Craft so completely in such a short life, I don¡¯t know¡­¡± She opened her eyes and smiled wanly. ¡°But I think I have turned defeat into a victory and bested her. Time will reveal the truth.¡±


    ¡°So¡­what now?¡±


    ¡°Now, you must step out of my embrace, beloved. I must rest. I must¡­¡± a yawn wracked her from face to feet. ¡°¡ªYou must take the reins again while I sleep and recover. We aren¡¯t defeated yet. And you¡¯re no longer destined for defeat. But you aren¡¯t destined for victory, either. Do not sit idle: get out there and claim it.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re just going to sleep?¡± Nils half asked, half demanded. ¡°Now?¡±


    ¡°I¡­do not have¡­any choice in the¡­¡± Iaka mumbled. Even as Nils watched, her head drooped to her chest and she sagged in her chair. He stepped forward, but a couple of Nornfey silently intercepted him. He understood from them that they would care for Lady Iaka, and that he would only get in the way and possibly harm her should he try. He glanced at the sleeping Forsaken, then sighed, nodded, and turned to leave.


    It was only as he reached the tower¡¯s door that he realized¡­he had sent the Make Your Own Fortune to Auldenheigh as part of the invasion force. And it was destroyed now. That was a heavy loss indeed. A piece of history, a piece of himself, reduced to splinters and atoms. He had other ships, and one could be here soon, of course¡­but there would never be another Fortune.


    He sighed, reached out with Mind, sent for a new ship, and turned to go back up inside the tower into the guest suite of rooms that had been his home these last few weeks. He would have to plan his next move from there.


    Oh well.


    <hr>


    <h2>Safety and comfort</h2>


    Unknown safehouse, Auldenheigh, Enerlend 09.06.03.12.13


    Adrey woke to the feeling of a warm body cuddled up to her back, and the sound of gentle feminine snoring. Sadie. She¡¯d know that snore anywhere. Crowns and Heralds knew, she¡¯d slept on the opposite side of a thin bedroom wall from it for several weeks.


    There was no confusion in her head, which in itself was almost confusing. From the instant she opened her eyes, she knew where she was, and how she had got there. She remembered the bridge, and the destruction she¡¯d wrought, and the comforting embrace of Queen Talvi.


    But she didn¡¯t remember it all. The Crown had helped her forget something, something she¡¯d wanted to forget. Something she wasn¡¯t ready to know. She knew she¡¯d known it. She could feel the shape of terrible knowledge as an absence somewhere inside her, locking her off from the full extent of¡­


    ¡­Of Wavefunction. What a peculiar name. Not one she thought she understood, unlike Time, or Mind. But she remembered what it felt like to have the full flourish of its potential coursing through her. She remembered what it felt like to be able to see a thing, decide it should no longer be, at the most fundamental level, a level below all others, and for the universe to listen and obey.


    Crowns. She¡¯d done that to people.


    She shivered, and extracted herself from under Sadie¡¯s sleeping arm to stand up. She was in one of the Network¡¯s safehouses, that much was instantly and easily certain. Though, it wasn¡¯t one she¡¯d seen before. She guessed it was the back room at a pub somewhere: the air had a certain flavor that spoke of generations of beer, spirits and smoke.


    In fact the smoke was really quite immediate, and it belonged to Skinner and Bothroyd. Neither man had apparently noticed Adrey rising from bed, and were instead sitting in elderly high-backed chairs by the fireplace, staring into the embers and wreathing themselves in whispy clouds from Skinner¡¯s short-handled clay pipe, and Bothroyd¡¯s rather fancy round-bowled briar pipe.


    Both men made to stand when Adrey murmured. ¡°Hey,¡± at them: Bothroyd grimaced, groaned, and collapsed back into his chair, and Skinner seemed profoundly relieved when Adrey waved him down.


    ¡°You got a spare one of those?¡± she asked.


    ¡°Didn¡¯t know you smoke,¡± Bothroyd commented. ¡°Ain¡¯t very ladylike.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t. But right now, I want to.¡±


    The two men shared a glance, then Bothroyd shrugged and produced his spare, which he kindly set about filling for her.


    ¡°Feelin¡¯ better, then?¡± Skinner asked, with a note of trepidation.


    ¡°¡­Relatively.¡± Adrey perched in the vacant third chair, and took stock of herself. She was still wearing Mari Pelton¡¯s clothes. She really didn¡¯t want to be, but she doubted there was any alternative. ¡°Is Sadie alright?¡±


    ¡°Poor lass looked after you for hours afore she fell asleep,¡± Bothroyd said, glancing over at the slumbering young woman. ¡°Reckon she needed summat to distract ¡®er.¡±


    ¡°¡­Are you alright?¡±


    The two men traded a look, then shrugged.


    ¡°Upright an¡¯ breathin¡¯,¡± Skinner said.


    ¡°Good start.¡±


    ¡°Aye.¡±


    ¡°An¡¯ Civorage is likely dead,¡± Bothroyd added. ¡°I¡¯d be jumpin¡¯ up an¡¯ down if I weren¡¯t knackered.¡±


    ¡°¡­He is?¡±


    ¡°Last I saw of the Make Your Own Fortune, you were smashin¡¯ it to bits wi¡¯ magic. No bugger survived that.¡±


    Adrey shivered, despite the warmth from the fireplace, and Bothroyd handed her a pipe. They set the whole conversation aside for a minute or two while he explained the process of lighting it, and coached her through blowing her first smoke ring, which she managed on her fifth attempt.


    It helped rather a lot. It was dark outside, sometime after midnight she guessed, and the only noises in the room were the faint crackle of burning logs, Sadie¡¯s quiet snore, and the soft sounds of smoking.


    Eventually, she told them what had happened. She spoke quietly, so as not to wake Sadie, but left nothing out. Keeping anythingl inside, unsaid and secret was unthinkable.


    They didn¡¯t interrupt. Though, Skinner did circle back to one point after she was done. ¡°You kissed ¡®er?¡±


    ¡°It was¡­the only distraction I could think of. It was the only weakness she had.¡± Adrey sipped a little more smoke in hopes that the flavor of it would chase away the hateful memory. ¡°She wanted me for a¡­a pet. She had it in her head that if she let Kal torture me and then she fed and bathed and cared for me, that I¡¯d¡­that I¡¯d¡­fall in love with her, or something. That I¡¯d become hopelessly devoted to her.¡±


    Skinner scoffed. ¡°People don¡¯t work that way.¡±


    ¡°Mari Pelton thought they did.¡± Adrey sighed, and decided after all that there were some things best left to die rather than kept alive by discussing them. Some thoughts and feelings that she would take to her grave rather than ever admit to.


    If Skinner guessed at her inner thoughts, he showed no sign of it. He just nodded ¡°And then¡­someone just showed up wi¡¯ a Word o¡¯ Creation.¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡± Adrey¡¯s hands shook as she remembered the encounter. ¡°She seemed¡­I don¡¯t know. I hardly remember her. She had such¡­such tired eyes¡­And gold hair. And she was beautiful, I think. As beautiful as Rheannach! Or she would have been if she hadn¡¯t looked so¡­¡±


    She couldn¡¯t find the right word. Her mysterious benefactor¡ªif she could really call it a benefaction¡ªhad shown only the merest flicker of even being attentive and present, and that only when Adrey herself had been almost panicking. Otherwise, the golden-haired woman had given the distinct impression of just going through the motions somehow. In the resigned, weary way of one who¡¯d trudged through the rain and sleet to the same hard job for year after year and had long since ceased to feel the smallest speck of enthusiasm for it.


    But it wasn¡¯t just that. She hadn¡¯t seemed to fit in the world, somehow. She¡¯d seemed¡­rather like the spectators at a race, or the audience at a play, there to witness events but not be part of them. Until, suddenly, she¡¯d leapt onto the stage to make one small, crucial change to the flow of events.


    Adrey tried to picture her. Tried to turn the many and varied powers of her new Word toward thinking about her. Tried to analyze the patterns surrounding her¡­and found nothing. There was nothing to latch onto about the golden woman, beyond a terrible, all-encompassing depression and a sort of weary hunger.


    She took a few deep breaths, then indicated out the window with her head. ¡°What¡¯s happening out there now?¡±


    Bothroyd shrugged. ¡°Not much. Wi¡¯out their ships, the last Guild marines an¡¯ Oneists got surrounded an¡¯ mobbed. Five thousand against five million.¡± He blew a smoke ring. ¡°Congratulations, lass. We won, thanks to you.¡±


    Adrey blushed hotly. That wasn¡¯t praise she wanted, or deserved. ¡°I¡­doubt it¡¯s that easy,¡± she said.


    ¡°What? You destroyed the Fortune, you blew up all their other ships, they¡¯ve lost Auldenheigh an¡¯ wi¡¯out Civorage the other dukes should be wakin¡¯ up from his control sometime soon. Sounds like a victory to me,¡± Bothroyd insisted.


    Adrey sighed. ¡°I¡¯ll sleep some more,¡± she said, and set the pipe aside. She couldn¡¯t quite put into words how she knew for a certainty that Bothroyd was wrong, but¡­she was too tired to think about it too closely for now. Here and now, though, she did know she was safe.


    She climbed back into the narrow cot, and considered Sadie as she pulled the blankets around herself. Crowns, a few short days ago Sadie had just been a fellow lodger and only potentially a friend. But right now, Adrey was gladder to see her than she could believe. Especially knowing what she did about how Sadie had looked after her while she slept.


    ¡°¡­Thank you,¡± she whispered to her friend, and settled down to sleep. Not fearfully, not fitfully, not to recover from an ordeal, but simply because she was safe, and it was night-time.


    That, at least, was a victory.


    <hr>


    <blockquote>


    Craenen ?uper?tition claims that an talented practitioner of the so-called ¡°Craft¡± may open or be ?en?itive to divers ways or paths within woodland, by which the witch may traver?e from one earthmote to another as one might ?tep from the ?treet into an tea hou?e or bakery. Dr. Bothright provides an mo?t excellent proof of the impo??ibility of this fanciful notion in his Treati?e on the Supernal Clavis, which I include below for the reader¡¯s con?ideration. (fig. B) ¡ªProf. Enst Beldrade, An Conci?e Summary of Magickal Lore and the Wi?dom of the Art for the Di?cerning Scholar.


    </blockquote>


    <h2>A beautiful glade</h2>


    Yonguitang Earthmote, several miles outside the City of Emperors. 09.06.03.12.14


    ¡°I do not understand. It is a most pleasing glade, Beloved One, but¡­¡±


    The Empress of the Yunei considered her surroundings with some trepidation. She had never actually walked in the woods all her life. Having been betrothed to the Emperor¡¯s current incarnation at the age of just four, she had spent all her life in palaces and gardens, learning and preparing to surrender her name and be Empress.


    There had never been any indication that the duty might bring her out of the palace and deep into the forest. But that was exactly where Lady Dragon had invited her to come. And so she had endured her palanquin being borne many long miles, outside of the familiar palace walls, along the great high road, and then off it along lesser ways and routes. The breeze had carried unfamiliar scents, pleasant and unpleasant alike. She had rarely smelled anything unpleasant before, and when she had inquired as to its nature, Lady Dragon had smilingly informed her that it was the ordure of pigs, from a nearby farm.


    No, the Empress was feeling quite out of her environment today. Though she had to admit, the glade in which her palanquin had finally been set down and she had alighted was as beautiful as any a poet might write of, or any artist might capture.


    It was beautiful in its simplicity, she decided. The local peasants had certainly recognized it as a place of importance: there was a small shrine and a spirit gate at the top of the hand-cut steps that led up from the village below, and the trail wound between low cliffs of rounded, mossy stones before splitting to pass on either side of a fat, sprawling, many-limbed maple. All was shades of emerald and jade and moss, and the sun shone through a thin, new canopy to dapple and play over the carpet of fallen leaves. Here and there among the rocks were small wooden bowls and clay cups¡ªofferings of food and wine for whichever spirits made their home here, along with chimes and votive papers hung in the maple¡¯s branches.


    Other than those ephemera, the place felt timeless and unchanged, as though the Crowns had made it essentially as it was now and it had rested peacefully here down the long millennia, quietly remaining untouched while all of human and elfish drama played out around it.


    The Herald smiled warmly. She had declined to be borne by palanquin, preferring to fly on pinions of black and white, and her chosen face seemed strange to the Empress. She was darker of hair and paler of skin even than the Empress herself, but the proportions of her nose and her cheeks were so¡­foreign.


    It was no snub. This was simply who the Herald of Wives chose to be. And the Empress had to allow that Lady Rheannach¡¯s form was a comely one¡­


    ¡°Surely you feel the power and special nature of this place, my lady?¡± she asked. Her accent was light, adding only a faint lilt to her words.


    ¡°Indeed, but I was given to understand we would be meeting somebody here¡­¡± The Empress looked around. ¡°I assumed we would find them waiting.¡±


    ¡°She will be here in a just a moment.¡±


    ¡°May I ask how?¡±


    ¡°She knows some of the old and subtle magics.¡±


    The Empress considered this. ¡°My understanding, Beloved One, is that she is as a queen to her people. Or, as close as the Garanese have. Is it deemed Proper in their world for such a woman to practice magic?¡±


    Rheannach covered her mouth to laugh slightly. ¡°Truthfully, no. It was quite a scandal. But in my experience, if you ask most Garanese which they would choose between what is Proper and what is right, most would answer the latter.¡±


    The Empress blinked. She could feel her forehead wanting to crease into a frown. ¡°I¡­would not consider there to be any distinction, my lady.¡±


    ¡°And that, as one would always anticipate from Her Majesty the Blessed Empress, is a most Proper and Yunei answer,¡± Rheannach answered.


    The Empress bowed slightly in acknowledgment of this compliment. She took a deep breath and savored the tranquility of the setting for a moment, before asking, ¡°Would you please tell me more of Garanhir? Especially of Enerlend?¡±


    Rheannach nodded, smoothed out her long, warm shawl with its grid pattern of thin red lines atop green and deep blue, and explained something of the politics of Garanhir: the vacant throne, the Crown Unworn, the Dukesmoot¡­


    She was just beginning a brief summary of House Banmor¡¯s history when the distinctive rustle of booted feet drew their attention, and a young woman emerged from behind the maple as though she had been hiding there all along, though her stride spoke of a brisk walking pace. She slowed to a halt and blinked at the Herald and the Empress, and said something to Rheannach.


    Rheannach laughed, rose to embrace her in a fond hug, and made introductions. ¡°Your Majesty the most Blessed Empress, Wife and Mother to the Enlightened One, Mistress of the Water and Fire gates, keeper of the keys to the Imperial Palace¡­I present Ellaenie of House Banmor, rightful Duchess of Enerlend, Crownspouse, Maiden of the Herald¡¯s Coven, and Wordspeaker.¡±


    The Empress and the Duchess bowed to each other. Or rather, the Empress bowed: the Duchess inclined her head, crossed one ankle in front of the other, and dipped from the knees. It was a remarkably elegant and dainty gesture.


    ¡°Your Majesty,¡± she said, in flawed and accented but well-intentioned Yunese.


    ¡°Your Grace. Welcome to the empire of the students of Yunei.¡± the Empress replied carefully, as she had been taught in Enerlish. The Duchess was young, though she could not fairly be called a girl. Difficult though it was to tell in a foreign face, she seemed to be in her middle twenties, with a sharp and angular face made entirely of planes and lines. Her jaw, her cheekbones, her brows, even her eyes had a hard and straight quality. She was not un-beautiful, far from it, but she was¡­ discomforting. There was something in her jade-green gaze which suggested she could see right into the Empress¡¯ head and assess her thoughts.


    ¡°You have not brought an escort, your Grace?¡± she asked, trusting the Herald to translate.


    Ellaenie shook her head softly. ¡°I am certain I will come to no harm.¡±


    ¡°Of course. Will you accept the protection of a few of my personal guard, however?¡±


    The Duchess and the Herald shared a brief glance. A lot seemed to pass between them in just that one heartbeat of eye contact. ¡°If that is the Proper thing,¡± Ellaenie said.


    ¡°It is certainly expected,¡± the Empress agreed.


    ¡°Then I am grateful to your Majesty for the kind offer, which I am pleased to accept.¡±


    The Empress chided herself internally for being surprised at such graceful manners. A lifetime of only ever hearing of barba¡ªof foreigners as uncouth, uncultured and base had prejudiced her, it seemed. There was, as the Crowns had said, much to un-learn.


    ¡°There is a palanquin waiting to bear us to the Palace,¡± she said, and gestured to where it sat at the top of the stair. ¡°I would be greatly pleased if you would ride with me.¡±


    For a moment she fretted over how to politely insist if Ellaenie declined: the Enerlender apparently walked for herself, to judge by the dust on her sturdy leather boots and the hem of her hard-wearing brown skirts. But Ellaenie dipped another of her strange foreign bows and murmured a polite thank-you.


    She also cleaned her clothes with a wave of her hand. The trail dust and mud simply fell off them, leaving her immaculate. Such a practical magic!


    ¡°I will fly,¡± Lady Rheannach declared, and produced a small sphere of polished wood from one of her purses. ¡°My husband made this for you, Empress. It should compensate for my absence.¡±


    ¡°Thank you.¡± The Empress took it and admired it. ¡°What¡­exactly does it do?¡±


    ¡°It translates. You two should have no trouble conversing, so long as you hold it.¡±


    Ellaenie said something in her own clipped, staccato tongue, yet somehow the Empress understood it: ¡°He always thinks of everything.¡±


    ¡°He always does,¡± Rheannach agreed in the same language, then stepped back and spread her wings. ¡°Enjoy your conversation.¡±


    With a hefty flap, she was gone.


    The two royals considered each other carefully for a long quiet minute as their palanquin was borne back down the stair toward the road. The Duchess, it seemed, was unused to being borne thus, and she held tight to the handle by her seat


    The Empress decided it was an appropriate topic by which to break the ice. ¡° I confess, I am very curious about you and your people. Do you¡­not ride in palanquins often?¡±


    Ellaenie gave her a wan smile. ¡°I usually travelled by horse-drawn carriage, before I married Prince Sayf.¡±


    ¡°Indeed? Surely this is a smoother ride? My bearers are skilled and dilligent men. The very finest in all the Empire.¡±


    For some reason, Ellaenie glanced aside as though listening to something only she could hear. Then she smiled. ¡°They certainly take pride in their work. And are highly gratified by your praise.¡±


    ¡°I would hope so. But¡­you know this?¡±


    ¡°I am a witch, Your Majesty. My Mother in the craft was Lady Rheannach, and my Beldame was the greatest witch to ever live, Thaighn Saoirse Crow-Sight. King E?rrach himself blessed my induction.¡±


    ¡°The Beloved Herald intimated that you courted controversy by studying such magic. May I take it that on Garanhir, as it is here, the magic of witches is mistrusted?¡±


    ¡°It is, yes. It was¡­quite Improper of me to study it.¡±


    ¡°Then, if I may ask, why do so?¡±


    Ellaenie gave the question some thought. After a second or two she gave a complex little shrug. ¡°Why does a fire burn? Why does a stream flow?¡±


    ¡°I think I understand your meaning. But¡­¡± The Empress looked out through the bamboo slats that served as her window, allowing her to see out but nobody to see in. The farms were jogging past steadily. ¡°The reputation of witches and their craft among my people is a dire one. The power to bend minds, to see into hearts and know their most intimate desires. The power to derange, ensnare and ensorcel¡­¡±


    ¡°The power to heal a troubled soul. the power to advise and guide a restless heart when they do not know themselves. The power to soothe, encourage and empower.¡±


    ¡°¡­Blossoms leave ripples in a mirror pond; beneath, the morning swimmer has found lasting peace.¡±


    The poem shocked her even as she uttered it. Such grim imagery would have sent whispers around the room at court. But the Duchess of Enerlend inclined her head with a smile.


    ¡°I¡¯m glad my husband coached me on your people¡¯s love of poetry,¡± she said. ¡°I would rather put it the other way around, though. Forgive me if this is clumsy, but¡­¡± she frowned in thought for a second then ventured, in halting and careful tones, ¡°Flowing water turns the mill; at dawn, a new blade. But is it for the soldier, or the chef?¡±


    The Empress couldn¡¯t help it: she covered her mouth politely and giggled. ¡°It is¡­a promising foray,¡± she ventured. Truthfully it was barely a poem at all, lacking rhyme, meter or elegance in word selection, and only the barest hints of the form. Stick-figure graffiti compared to a bold and vibrant watercolor. But it did carry the sentiment, and that was the first rule the Imperial tutors had ever drilled into her as a child. That it did so without subtlety and interpretation was merely the mark of a beginner.


    ¡°I suspect it¡¯s dreadful.¡± Ellaenie¡¯s strange green eyes glinted in deep amusement. ¡°I would like to be your friend, Your Majesty. To me, that is an invitation to be merciless in your criticism.¡±


    ¡°I would like to be your friend as well, your Grace¡± the Empress replied. ¡°So I will not call it dreadful. Indeed, it truly was a respectable first foray into an art form foreign to you, in a language you do not speak¡­it would be unreasonable to expect a perfect polished jewel. That you composed a rough-cut one delights me! I look forward to hearing your verse once you have had more practice.¡±


    Ellaenie¡¯s smile was sober. ¡°It may be a long time coming,¡± she pointed out. ¡°There is a war to fight, first.¡±


    ¡°Then when I hear your refined verse, I will know the war has passed behind us, and my joy will be doubled. But until then¡­please. Tell me more of witchcraft as you practice it. If it is not Improper for women of our station to use after all, then¡­¡±


    Ellaenie was only too happy to oblige, and the conversation that followed contained much that was strange, surprising, even shocking. When she described her ritual rebirth, dancing intoxicated and naked with the Herald in the dark and waking wrapped together like mother and newborn daughter, it should have been scandalous. Instead, the Empress found herself nostalgic for a life she¡¯d never lived and a way of life she¡¯d never known. Now, she was beginning to understand why the Crowns had insisted that Ellaenie should come here for this meeting. There was much to learn from her.


    But there was also much to teach. Far more than just poetry.


    It was, she hoped and believed, the start of a great friendship.


    <hr>


    <blockquote>


    For those fortunate enough to have never looked closely upon one, a brief description is in order: Shades bear broadly the form they had in life, including whatever clothes and possessions they had upon their person at the moment of their taking. All color is gone from them: they are opaque black fading to dark grey at the lightest, and drool or weep an inky liquid constantly from eyes, nose, mouth and ears, which evaporates instantly upon dripping from their flesh. Their faces are locked permanently in whichever expression they wore upon being taken¡ªtypically a hideous fearful scream or, at best, resigned despair. Their eyes stare unblinking at the living, and they reach out with grasping fingers, but will not stray upon well-lit ground. No Shade has ever been seen to ambulate: instead they flow from place to place, melting away like a vapour to reform at their destination. They are generally entirely silent, though there are legends of them occasionally being heard to whisper incomprehensibly. I cannot verify this last matter. ¡ªDenrick Roth, Shades


    </blockquote>


    <h2>Crae Varthen</h2>


    Varthen Earthmote, The Craenen 09.06.03.12.14


    Varthen earthmote was one of those familiar shapes in the sky that Jerl could have pointed to in a heartbeat when asked, but had never seriously expected to visit. It was a broadly ovoid mote, with a little triangular peninsula about a third of the way along its leading-sinister edge and a squarish one on the opposite side, so that the overall shape put him in mind of a bream or a carp. Some kind of coarse river fish, anyway.


    According to Amir¡¯s almanac, the Crae¡¯s population was fewer than a fifth of a million, spread in farming communities and little villages across more than a thousand square miles. It was, in the grand scheme of the Nested Worlds, nowhere.


    But it turned out to be pretty beyond belief.


    From the angle they approached at, the top of the mote¡¯s cliffs were scrubby brown wind-swept moorland, bald of trees and clung to only by purplish heather and rugged sheep. This, however, turned out to be a slim slice of plateau no more than two miles wide, which abruptly plunged down off the heights in a sharp sharp escarpment facing into the leading winds. The resulting updraft created a boil of cloud that spilled over and over like the roller of a laundry mangle, squeezing rain down onto the slopes. Streams laced the cliffsides, running together into lakes¡ªno. Into reservoirs held back by great stone dams, whose overflow spillways were white curtains that marked the source of a long and meandering river.


    Downstream, the landscape was green and gorgeous, patchworked by mismatched irregular fields and delineated by hedgerows and stands of trees. The transition from rugged highland to bucolic lowland was so abrupt as to be breathtaking.


    At Jerl¡¯s side, Deng-Nah said something low and soft in his own language. It sounded like poetry. It usually was, with Deng-Nah. Composing or quoting a short poetic phrase on instant notice was, apparently, considered to be a highly necessary skill among Yunei nobility, and it was Proper to do so at the slightest provocation.


    ¡°How well does this one translate?¡± Jerl asked him.


    Deng-Nah looked up at him, then back out over the rolling fields below and sighed. ¡°Uh¡­let me think. The words are¡­ ¡¯Before me I see a frozen river¡ªbut now the ice breaks¡ªand the stillness shall not heal until year¡¯s end.¡¯ He looked up at Jerl again and gave a wry shrug. ¡°¡­Doesn¡¯t translate well, I think.¡±


    ¡°Why quote it?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s so¡­uh¡­ *guo-xia¡­*uh, so disorderly down there.¡± Deng-Nah swept his hand dismissively at the uneven, irregular network of fields. ¡°No Yunei would parcel out land in¡­lumps like that. Look at them! Like¡­like¡­¡±


    ¡°Fields?¡± Jerl suggested.


    ¡°Like dumplings in a basket! Where are the orderly rows? Where are the neat field lines? The terraces? It¡¯s so¡­foreign.¡±


    ¡°I rather like it,¡± Jerl said. ¡°It has character.¡±


    ¡°Why does ¡®character¡¯ always mean being messy and badly planned with you?¡±


    ¡°Must be cultural, I guess.¡±


    Deng-Nah conceded that with a small harrumph. ¡°Must be.¡±


    ¡°¡­So you¡¯re feeling a long way from home right now, huh?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t you? We¡¯re nearly as far from Garanhir as from Yonguitang.¡±


    ¡°True. But¡­I mean, my father and I became airshipmen to get away from home and see the worlds and all it has to offer. I¡¯m an adventurer at heart. You left home to protect home.¡±


    A smile crawled up one side of Deng-Nah¡¯s face. ¡°Are you sure you didn¡¯t speak Mind?¡±


    Jerl chuckled. ¡°Pretty sure¡­¡±


    They watched the river loop and play below them toward their destination, Crae Varthen. Looking up in that direction, Jerl could see the Eclipse coming. Another earthmote, perhaps half Varthen¡¯s size, was looming in the mists, moving in almost the same direction and at almost the same speed. The eclipse was therefore likely to be a long one, but that was exactly why they had come here. The way Jerl saw it, if they were going to use the Shades to try and open the box, they might want all the time they could get. After all, the last time he¡¯d seen it done, it had been Civorage who actually unlocked Time¡¯s vault. And from what Jerl knew, it had taken him weeks to figure out the puzzle.


    Sin joined them, trotting up from amidships. ¡°Gebby¡¯s bringing us down for final approach. Does Crae Varthen even have a tower?¡±


    ¡°It does,¡± Jerl said. He¡¯d confirmed the distant red beacon light with his telescope as soon as they¡¯d swept over the escarpment. ¡°It¡¯s a Keeghan And Sons franchise, if I remember right. They¡¯ve seen us.¡±


    ¡°And if they¡¯re not a Keeghan And Sons tower?¡± Sin asked. ¡°If they¡¯re, say, Clear Skies?¡±


    Jerl shrugged. ¡°No premonition.¡±


    Sin made a small grumbling noise and hopped up to sit on a barrel. ¡°I¡­suppose that¡¯s good enough,¡± she allowed. ¡°Pretty mote, this. Though it¡¯s changed quite a lot since my last visit.¡±


    ¡°When was that?¡±


    ¡°I was reincarnated in Vathmaridu about¡­a hundred and sixty years before the Ordfey¡¯s fall? It was mostly forest back then.¡± She looked ahead toward the capitol. ¡°I remember it had an excellent little amphitheatre.¡±


    ¡°Vathmaridu¡­¡± Jerl scowled as he attempted to translate. ¡°¡¯City of acceptable water?¡¯¡±


    ¡°Mar-idu, not mar-i-du.¡± She corrected him. ¡°Fortress on the river.¡¯¡±


    ¡°Oh.¡±


    Sin flashed a small smile, then leaned over to watch the fields roll by. ¡°A lot changes in three thousand years, especially when humans are involved. The forest is is long gone. No doubt the fortress and the amphitheatre are as well¡­It¡¯d be dizzying if not for the cycle of reincarnation. The Crowns knew what they were doing when they made us serially mortal, rather than immortal.¡±


    ¡°Wonder why you get that, and not us?¡± Deng-Nah mused.


    ¡°Ask Ekve.¡± Sin shot a glance over her shoulder toward the ship¡¯s stern. The Ordfey¡¯s many-times emperor cut an oddly simple figure in unadorned grey, sitting in meditation in an out-of-the-way corner. He rarely moved from that spot in fact, except for mealtimes and some light exercise. And though he would sit in discussion for hours on end with the R¨¹wyrdans, the few conversations Jerl had tried to strike up with him had been terse and short-lived.


    He and Sin seemed to avoid each other. Ekve and Bekhil, the two surviving monsters of a murderous triumvirate who¡¯d held the very apex of Ordsiwat imperial power. Spouses and lovers through a hundred lives. Jerl would have thought they¡¯d have a lot to say to each other, now that Ekve had come over to the Penitent camp. Instead¡­


    ¡°How would he know?¡±


    ¡°Trust me. He does.¡±


    Jerl considered it, then glanced over the side himself. The conversation would have to wait for later, he realized. Up ahead, the river dog-legged, turning a ninety degree corner where it hugged the foot of a low hill, then sweeping back the other way in a long graceful curve across to meet its original heading again about two miles down the flood plain. Crae Varthen straddled the straight stretch immediately afer the tight bend, dominated by the caisteal atop the hill and a long stone quay. Quite aside from the protection of the terrain, the caisteal had a commanding overwatch of the lone triple-arched stone bridge that cross the water beneath it¡ªthe only one Jerl had seen along the river¡¯s entire length.


    A classic Craenen move, that. The Thaighn controlled the only crossing along an eighty mile river, and thus controlled the entire earthmote. Any Lairds or Ridires who thought to supplant them would have a gigantic obstacle to contend with, forcing them to send their forces and messengers miles out of their way upriver into the rugged uplands where they could be ambushed and intercepted.


    Of course, airships had made such a philosophy quite obsolete. But the Thaighn of Crae Varthen apparently knew it, and had invested in a navy. The mooring mast on the river¡¯s trailing bank sat at the center of a double ring of airship cradles that had pushed back the rich green grazing paddocks by hundreds of yards. Most of the cradles were occupied, and only two of the docked ships sported Keeghan & Sons guild colors: the other dozen were liveried in cardinal red, amber and black


    Gebby brought them in to moor at mast-top with his usual deft touch. Ropes were exchanged wtih the mast team, the Queen was tethered, and Derghan spun the engines down until the constant background thrum that lulled Jerl to sleep every night the ship was aloft was entirely gone.


    In its place, he could hear the sounds of a town preparing for Eclipse: somewhere in a spire on the caisteal, a bell was plodding through its slow, steady toll, and he could hear the bark and hie of town cryers. The men on the mast all wore magelights, too.


    ¡°Cuttin¡¯ et fine ye are, capten!¡± One of them called, in heavily accented Enerlish. ¡°Sure ye wanna stay? ¡¯Tis a long eclipse comin¡¯!¡±


    ¡°We know!¡± Jerl called back.


    ¡°Sure aye? ¡®Tis thy business, ¡®en. Ye¡¯ll be want¡¯n a cradle.¡±


    ¡°That we do! Guild rate?¡±


    ¡°An¡¯ two brass. Thaighn¡¯s tax.¡±


    Jerl nodded, counted the coins into a small leather bag, then tossed them to the man. He caught it neatly, secured them, then gabbled something too heavily accented for Jerl to properly understand, but which he took to mean that they were happy to receive the ship and its crew, who should hold tight during the short process of being winched them down into a cradle.


    Sure enough, more ropes were exchanged, the ground team took over, and soon they and the rigging crew were shouting back and forth to each other as the coordinated to balance the ship¡¯s buoyancy against the downward pull of the cables. A couple of immense oxen in wooden treadles did the actual hard work of reeling the cables in, and within minutes the Queen¡¯s keel settled into the groove with a heavy wooden thunk, the bolt drove home, and they were secure.


    The Eclipse was already marching up the valley.


    ¡°Best be hurryin¡¯ up, there!¡± the ground crew leader called. He and his men were lighting their magelights and grouping up to hustle away toward the sole bridge while up above them the caisteal¡¯s warning bell redoubled its ringing. ¡°Ye¡¯ll be wantin¡¯ the Jolly Tar by there, they¡¯ll have enough room ¡®fer all¡¯a yez.¡± He pointed to a sprawling inn on the far side of the river.


    Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.


    The crew certainly had no interest in being out during Eclipse, so the work got done double-fast. Within ten minutes, every man and elf on the Queen was sporting a magestone on their breast pocket, another on their back, and a hand-lantern. They jogged across the bridge in a bright little cluster as the huge, ponderous weight of stone turned slowly in overhead like cargo being loaded by an immense crane.


    They reached the Jolly Tar Inn with perhaps a minute to spare and bundled through the door to be greeted by a couple of maids bobbing and curtseying on the doormat under the supervision of a round-bellied but strong-armed innkeeper with a thick mustache.


    Jerl was the last in. He cast a glance up the street, saw the shadow sweeping down it, and stepped smartly over the threshold. One of the young ladies closed the door and bolted it, hung a red woven tapestry over the doorframe, closed the curtains, then flashed him a bright smile.


    ¡°Everyone in?¡± she asked as the windows darkened.


    ¡°I think so,¡± Jerl agreed. ¡°Sin? Head count?¡±


    Sin gave him a worried look. ¡°Fifty-three, skipper. We¡¯re missing one.¡±


    ¡°Who?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡± She frowned around the room. ¡°I can¡¯t figure out¡ª¡±


    ¡°Oi.¡± Mouse laughed and touched Sin¡¯s elbow, causing her to jump and her hand to fly to the fighting knife on her belt.


    ¡°¡­Oh. Right. Yes.¡± Sin shook herself. ¡°¡­Correction. All present and accounted for, captain.¡±


    ¡°Outstanding.¡± Jerl gave Mouse a playful swat on the backside for his antics, then strolled on up to the bar, where the innkeeper gave him a gap-toothed grin from behind one of the most splendidly bushy and droopy moustaches he¡¯d ever seen. ¡°Guess we¡¯re here for the duration, sir.¡±


    ¡°An¡¯ fair welcome ye are too, cap¡¯n. Was look to be a lean one there elseways.¡±


    ¡°So I imagine.¡± They haggled over the price, though for once Jerl found himself getting the worse of it. After all, where were he and the others going to go? There was no malice in the innkeeper¡¯s shrewd bargaining though, and for a small wonder he didn¡¯t comment on the fact of half the crew being elves.


    Pretty soon, the place was alive. The staff were juggling preparing beds and serving drinks, the crew were spread out enjoying their drinks, a meal was promised for three hours¡¯ time, and the whole interior was ablaze with so much light that even the undersides of the tables were illuminated.


    Jerl, however, couldn¡¯t settle down to enjoy himself. He lurked by the window and smoked his pipe, happy to watch his crew drinking, eating, playing cards, singing and generally unwinding. Marren, Gebby and the twins were even behaving themselves and keeping their flirting with the bar girls to a minimum. It should have ben an opportunity to relax and have little to worry about for the next few days.


    But he had never been able to ignore Shades at the best of times. Out in the street, the poor fuckers would be drifting and lurching around aimlessly. With the curtains drawn and the lights up, it was easy to pretend they weren¡¯t there, but Jerl knew that the nearest one might be only inches away, pawing feebly on on the far side of the thin stone and mortar. It ought to have been a horrible feeling.


    Instead¡­


    Jerl couldn¡¯t quite put a name to the emotion, but it was some wretched, disowned relative of comfort. One that hurt to feel, but which he couldn¡¯t resist when he had the opportunity, like touching a wound. He rested his head against the cold stone and shut his eyes.


    ¡°Will ye be stayin¡¯ up all night there, capt¡¯n Holten?¡±


    Jerl blinked and refocused, realizing he had drifted far away into thought and that Deng-Nah had apparently been too polite to intrude. Or perhaps he had dozed a little. Either way, the innkeeper was standing over them looking thoroughly past his bedtime. ¡°Huh? Oh. Uh, yes. A little longer yet, I think.¡±


    ¡°As ye like, o¡¯ course. I just thought to tell ye, yer rooms¡¯re ready an lit. Got stones in ¡®em that¡¯ll burn all week, so we do. Will ye be wantin¡¯ any more from the bar ¡®fore I go to me own bed?¡±


    ¡°No, that¡¯s alright. Thank you.¡±


    ¡°G¡¯night, then.¡±


    ¡°Goodnight.¡±


    The innkeeper nodded and blundered away through into the back, yawning expansively. Jerl felt a twing of guilt at keeping him up so late, but it vanished as Deng-Nah sprang to his feet looking nervous and energized. The young Yunei nobleman went digging in his satchel, and after a little rummaging, he produced the Word vault. Runes and letters flickered across its surface, adding an eerie green edge to the room¡¯s illumination


    ¡°So¡­¡± he said.


    ¡°So,¡± Mouse agreed. He¡¯d been reading in a nearby chair, but the book was discarded for curiosity as he trotted over to take a good look. ¡°What¡­do we do with this?¡±


    Jerl frowned at the small wooden box. ¡°Civorage opened his by moving the runes around until they formed the correct pattern.¡±


    ¡°Seems¡­overly simple,¡± Mouse mused.


    ¡°Especially if he went mad in the process,¡± Deng-Nah agreed. ¡°Seems a strange thing, too. The crowns made a perfect lock, then put the key right on the box?¡±


    ¡°Not all is as they wished it to be¡­¡± Jerl mused, remembering Talvi¡¯s words to him at the end of a history he¡¯d erased. ¡°I think from what Lord Sayf and Lady Haust told me, the idea was always that people would open the vaults and learn the words eventually, when we were ready for it. They wanted it to be a controlled, cautious process. Instead¡­they¡¯re out early. Because of the Shades.¡±


    ¡°The Shades are a mystery, too,¡± Mouse pointed out. ¡°I don¡¯t really buy the whole ¡®they¡¯re an unintended complication¡¯ thing. Why would the Crowns tolerate them?¡±


    ¡°Because removing the Shades would damage something else, even worse?¡± Jerl suggested. ¡°They keep telling us they¡¯re not perfect.¡±


    Deng-Nah grunted, quoted some Yunei poetry again, then touched an experimental finger to the runes and icons and started sliding them around. A run glowed brighter than the others, detached slightly from the surface of the wood, and slid smoothly into its new spot, trading places with the space¡¯s previous occupant.


    Both runes also transformed into completely different runes, and several others in seemingly random places all over the box rotated, or changed, or mirrored themselves. After about a minute of tentative investigation, Jerl was beginning to get an idea of why the puzzle had done such a number on Civorage¡¯s sanity. He felt certain there was a logic to the cascading changes, but what that logic might be¡­?


    Pretty soon they were bickering. And they kept bickering for hours before finally deciding they had better go to bed before the inn¡¯s staff woke up to begin the early morning chores. They had not, so far as Jerl could tell, made any progress at all. Certainly, they went to bed feeling confused and frustrated.


    Their rooms were quite nicely furnished and as well-lit as promised, with sleeping masks waiting on the pillows and soft mattresses, but neither comfort helped Jerl to sleep at all. Long after Mouse had dropped off and started snoring, curled up against his arm, he lay there and stared into the dark behind his eyelids.


    In the silence, he could hear the Shades whispering.


    <hr>


    <blockquote>


    So airman my love, hold on to me tight, For I¡¯ve never yet mastered the power of flight! If you should let go, it¡¯s a long way to fall¡ª So I¡¯d rather not slip from your arms, not at all! ¡ªMs. Maysey Wells, performing at the Cabaret Enerlese circa 09.05.15


    </blockquote>


    <h2>Preparing for the next fight</h2>


    Pickler¡¯s Lane, Auldenheigh 09.06.03.12.14


    For the first time in years, Auldenheigh was free. No Oneist circles and airships, no Duke¡¯s men, no Clear Skies marines¡­It wasn¡¯t going to last, and everyone knew it. But the city¡¯s sleepy, scared population had finally been roused and united, now that Civorage and his co-conspirators had shown their hand.


    Jed Bothroyd had certainly never seen such public unity before. Everywhere one looked, the city was being fortified. Not just barricades of scrap wood and furniture, but real walls were going up, built with the robbed-out bricks and timbers of broken buildings. Cannons had been salvaged from the airship wrecks, rifles looted from the dead Marines, militias were drilling and training in the parks and plazas under the shouted guidance of whatever veterans were whole enough and body and mind to marshall them.


    All futile, of course. The Dukesmoot was united under Civorage¡¯s control, which meant that when their reprisal came it would be in the form of a real army, tens of thousands strong, professionally equipped, delivered by ship and supplied by train. Auldenheigh¡¯s defiance would consist of a second bloody day, and nothing more than that.


    The fact that everybody knew it didn¡¯t seem to be weakening anyone¡¯s resolve, though. Jed had always known there was a spine of grim fortitude in his city¡¯s people, buried under the layers of ordinary grime, family, work, politicking and petty concerns that were collectively known as ¡°life.¡± But now, the fires of battle had burned the city right down to its backbone.


    Nobody was busier than the remnants of the Blackdrake Network. Even though Jed¡¯s body still ached awfully from the forced half-marathon he¡¯d run just a couple of days earlier, he was still forcing himself up into the saddle to deliver messages around the city and check the status of agents and safehouses. More were intact than he¡¯d feared, though fewer than he¡¯d wished.


    At least Ten Pickler¡¯s Lane was still intact.


    He dismounted with a grunt of aching effort, left the horse in the care of one of the volunteers, and groaned and chuffed his way up the steps into what Adrey had taken to calling the ¡°War Cabinet.¡± There was little point in keeping it mobile and ready to flee now, so things had been set up on a more permanent basis. Skinner¡¯s maps now dominated two large desks in the middle of the study, as well as a tangled web on the blackboard where he¡¯d written a variety of words¡ªcodenames, safehouses, routes, code phrases, cells, city districts¡ªon little scraps of paper and strung various bits of it together with lengths of dyed yarn. Whatever he was trying to puzzle out, Jed couldn¡¯t make sense of it. On the other side of the room, Sadie and Adrey were playing chess for some reason. He frowned at them, and plopped down into a wingback chair with a sigh.


    Skinner gave him a sympathetic grunt, and poured a large brandy. ¡°How is it out there?¡±


    ¡°Grim. But we¡¯ll give ¡®em a fierce bloody fight when they come.¡±


    Skinner nodded, and traded the drink for Jed¡¯s written report, which he unrolled and skimmed in silence before heading over to the map table, where he swapped a couple of map pins for different colors.


    ¡°¡­Be honest, Skinner. We don¡¯t stand a chance, do we?¡± Jed asked.


    ¡°We¡¯ve got a Wordspeaker on our side, now,¡± Skinner replied, evenly. He turned around and drew a square box around one of the safehouses named on his blackboard.


    ¡°That¡¯d be enough if she were still blastin¡¯ airships out t¡¯sky wi¡¯ pink lightning.¡±


    Adrey moved a piece with a prim little click. ¡°Trust me, it¡¯s best for us all that I can¡¯t,¡± she said. She took up a small notepad and scribbled a brief note in pencil before looking at Sadie expectantly.


    The Countess was¡­well, she was more-or-less recovered. Physically, at least. The branded letter P on the back of her neck was never going away, and neither were the white scars that cut through her left eyebrow and lower lip. Nor, if Jed was any judge, were her eyes ever going to be quite as alive as they had been before. But by Yngmir, what she¡¯d lost in sunshine she¡¯d gained double in tempered hardness.


    Not to mention something else. Jed stood up and went to examine the game. As he passed behind Adrey, she showed him the note she¡¯d made: Laird x d6.


    He blinked at it¡­then blinked again as he watched Sadie move her black Laird to d6, taking Adrey¡¯s Laird that was already squatting there. Adrey smiled, recaptured the square with her Huskarl, then jotted g3 in her notepad. Sure enough, a moment later, Sadie advanced one of her peons.


    ¡°That¡¯s¡­¡± Jed considered the note paper, which was a marching column of moves. ¡°Are you¡­predictin¡¯ ¡®er moves before she makes ¡®em?¡±


    Sadie sat back and gave Adrey an accusing look. ¡°She¡¯s what?¡±


    Adrey grinned. ¡°Oh, don¡¯t complain, Sadie dear. You beat me with white every time before today.¡± She gave Jed a wry look. ¡°She¡¯s a terror. I thought Ellaenie was good at chess, but Sadie here is quite unbeatable.¡±


    ¡°Unless you use the cosmic power of the Crowns themselves to cheat,¡± Sadie sniffed, but Jed could tell she was amused, and trying not to blush at the praise.


    Adrey threw up her hands in surrender, and tipped over her Thaighn to resign the match. ¡°I don¡¯t think I¡¯ll ever get to play chess again, then. It¡¯s impossible for me not to cheat, by that standard.¡±


    ¡°What do y¡¯mean?¡± Jed asked, as Sadie snorted softly and rose to go brew some tea. ¡°You can¡­see the future?¡±


    Adrey gave a half-shrug. ¡°Not exactly¡­here. Toss a coin.¡±


    ¡°¡­What?¡±


    ¡°Do it,¡± Skinner said, with a small gap-toothed smile. ¡°This is a neat trick.¡±


    ¡°Arright¡­¡± Jed dug around and found a steel. He balanced it on his thumb and flicked it in the air¡ª


    ¡°Face.¡±


    Jed shrugged at the correct guess. ¡°¡­Arright, one point to you, but¡ª¡±


    ¡°Do it again,¡± Adrey told him.


    Every time the coin flicked upwards, Adrey guessed. ¡°Seal, seal, seal, face, face, seal, seal, seal, face, seal, face, face, face¡­¡±


    Every time it landed, she turned out to be right. She was right twenty times before Jed gave up.


    ¡°Well, that¡¯s a neat trick and all, but¡ª¡± he began, then trailed off as she turned her notepad around again. On it, she¡¯d scribbled the words ¡®Well that¡¯s a neat trick and all but¡¯. ¡°¡­Winter¡¯s tits. So you can see the future?¡±


    ¡°No, it¡¯s not¡­everything is¡­to pick a third game out of the air, it¡¯s like I know everyone¡¯s hand, and I know what the flop, turn and river are going to be. So I know what the optimal play is for everyone at the table, and I can even know for sure if another player is bluffing¡­but even then, I¡¯m not actually guaranteed to win every hand, am I?¡±


    ¡°I s¡¯pose not¡­¡±


    ¡°Right. Everything is¡­probability, now. I can see and feel what¡¯s most likely. But also, if all outcomes are equal and I just make a complete naked guess, my guess turns out to be right every time.¡±


    Jed considered that for a moment. ¡°¡­What bloody Word is that?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Wavefunction.¡±


    ¡°¡­Come again?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t ask, I can¡¯t explain it. It¡¯s¡­luck and probability and randomness, and how they interact with the very smallest parts of reality at the very lowest level. It¡¯s weird, Jed. So weird it¡­well. You saw what a state I was in before Queen Talvi helped me.¡±


    ¡°Mm.¡± Jed remembered clearly. He remembered her desperate plea to the Crown, ¡®Make it real again.¡¯


    ¡°I¡¯d¡­rather not understand it again. Not until I¡¯m ready. If I ever can be. Jerl Holten spoke about having to forget part of his Word in order to remain sane. I understand what he meant, now.¡± Adrey sighed heavily, then stood up and ambled over toward Skinner¡¯s maps. She took in the shape of the pins and little tokens scattered across it at a glance. ¡°We have twelve guns at Finch Park.¡±


    ¡°Yeah?¡±


    ¡°I think they¡¯ll do more good if we move them to Elfcliffe.¡±


    Skinner considered it. ¡°¡­They would be good there,¡± he admitted. ¡°But why not Finch Park?¡±


    ¡°False weakness. They¡¯ll land at Finch Park if they think it¡¯s poorly defended. But we can put sharpshooters in the buildings here, here and here.¡± She tapped the map. Skinner considered the proposal for a moment with a deepening frown, then pulled a face.


    ¡°Poor buggers,¡± he commented. ¡°That¡¯ll be a massacre.¡±


    ¡°We can¡¯t stop them landing everywhere, Skinner. But if we control where they do land¡­¡±


    ¡°Aye, I¡¯m with ye. If the Word¡¯s tellin¡¯ you so, we¡¯ll go wi¡¯ it.¡±


    ¡°It is. I can¡­feel the shape of the battle coming together.¡± Adrey shrugged. ¡°The Word isn¡¯t as¡­as intense now as it was on the bridge. But I can at least use it this way without it driving me out of my mind.¡±


    ¡°For which I for one am bloody thankful,¡± Jed commented gruffly.


    ¡°You were a bit terrifying,¡± Sadie agreed as she handed out drinks.


    Adrey¡¯s ears turned red, but she nodded solemnly and sipped her tea without comment. for a few seconds, the only sound in the room was the rattle of the tea service, the ticking of the clock, and the soft slurping of four people lost in their thoughts.


    ¡°Well¡­what about this lot?¡± Skinner asked, breaking the silence to indicate his tangled web of yarn and scribbles. ¡°Got a guess?¡±


    Adrey considered it. ¡°¡­Give me a minute to think.¡±


    ¡°What even is all that?¡± Jed asked. He¡¯d been trying to make head or tails of it for hours, without success.


    ¡°Well, it started as me tryin¡¯ to figure out how the Peltons saw through Adrey¡¯s cover,¡± Skinner explained. ¡°They didn¡¯t just take a wild guess, they knew who she was an¡¯ who she works for. An¡¯ then later I was tryin¡¯ to see ¡®ow the elves picked us apart so clean. The whole network¡¯s planned so that shouldn¡¯t be possible. You know ¡®ow it works. Cells o¡¯ three, safe ¡®ouses, compartmentalization, all of it. Even if there¡¯s a leak over ¡®ere, it shouldn¡¯t affect owt there¡­¡±


    ¡°Too bad I killed the Peltons before we could question them¡­¡± Adrey commented, gravely.


    ¡°Don¡¯t start thinking like that,¡± Sadie told her. ¡°They didn¡¯t give you the option of being civilized.¡±


    ¡°I know. Still, in an ideal world¡­¡±


    ¡°If wishes was gold, we¡¯d all ¡®ave shiny teeth,¡± Jed said, quoting one of his grandmother¡¯s favorites. ¡°But alright. I know all about compartmentalization an¡¯ all. So what¡­?¡±


    Skinner indicated the different colors of yarn. ¡°Green means two-way communication. Blue an¡¯ yellow are one-way communication. Black an¡¯ white are one-way *knowledge¡ª*A knows that B exists, but B doesn¡¯t know A exists, right? An¡¯ red is mutual ignorance.¡±


    Jed gave the tangled web of string and names a thoughtful frown. ¡°¡­So what¡¯s the problem?¡±


    ¡°The problem is, it doesn¡¯t make any bloody sense! I can¡¯t find a pattern!¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s because you¡¯re assuming nobody cheated at the game,¡± Adrey said, quietly. ¡°Here¡­¡± she drew a couple of other boxes, and ran red, green, black and yellow lines between them and the existing boxes. ¡°There. I bet if you went looking, you¡¯d find these are parts of the Network our cell didn¡¯t know about.¡±


    Skinner ran a hand over his scalp. ¡°You¡¯re sayin¡¯ you can guess at the Network¡¯s cells an¡¯ members with your Word?¡±


    ¡°Not completely wild guesses. Just¡­very accurate extrapolations from scant evidence. And there¡¯s somebody else who can as well.¡±


    ¡°Who?¡±


    ¡°Ellaenie met him already. The masked man who tried to kill her at Crae Vhannog. Captain of the Aleator.¡±


    ¡°¡­Remind me.¡±


    ¡°He was a Wordspeaker. He called it Luck, but it¡¯s not. It¡¯s my Word. Luck is just¡­a crude interpretation of what it can do, and what it does do for him. But like me, all he¡¯d have to do is exert its power and guess, and he¡¯d be right.¡±


    Skinner gave her an appalled look. ¡°¡­Fuck me with a rake. How in E?rrach¡¯s name are we meant to run a covert network against someone who can do that?¡±


    ¡°We can¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°How come they didn¡¯t pick us apart earlier, then?¡± Jed asked.


    ¡°¡­This is just a guess, of course¡ª¡± Adrey began.


    ¡°Right, right, but if what you¡¯re sayin¡¯ is true then your guesses are as good as a report. So¡­?¡±


    ¡°Civorage has a patron of some kind. Somebody that the hag elves belong to. And now I have a patron, the one who gave me the Word. And because it¡¯s the same Word, presumably she¡¯s also the patron of the Aleator¡¯s captain. Except I probably can¡¯t consider her a patron because her behaviour seems erratic: exposing us one moment, then turning around and giving me the power to destroy Civorage¡¯s forces the next.¡± Adrey thought about it for a moment. ¡°Which¡­fits what I saw of her. She seemed bored. Terribly bored. And keen to stir up trouble just for a moment¡¯s entertainment.¡±


    ¡°So¡­what? This masked fella an¡¯ his patron only just got involved?¡±


    ¡°Things only just got interesting enough for them to take notice.¡±


    There was a thoughtful pause, punctuated by Skinner¡¯s fingers rasping through several days¡¯ worth of stubble. He didn¡¯t seem to know what to say. Jed certainly didn¡¯t.


    Sadie meanwhile had perched herself on the corner of the desk. ¡°So¡­who are the patrons?¡±


    Adrey pursed her lips thoughtfully, then scratched at the back of her neck as though it pained her. It probably did. ¡°There are things that don¡¯t add up yet. Threads that aren¡¯t coming together. Like¡­how did Civorage find his Word in the first place? Are we to believe he just happened to dig in the exact right spot to find one? And he just happened to open it because the Shades just happen to whisper the identity of a vault¡¯s content?¡±


    ¡°Where do the Shades even come from?¡± Sadie asked. ¡°I¡¯ve always felt like they can¡¯t be part of the plan, surely?¡±


    ¡°¡­You know what? That might be exactly the right question.¡± Adrey considered the maps a minute longer, then sighed and stood. Somehow, she seemed more energized and ready than any of them. ¡°But here and now, we have an invasion to plan for.¡±


    ¡°We can¡¯t win,¡± Skinner said.


    ¡°I know. But we don¡¯t have to. We just have to fight a little longer.¡±


    ¡°Until?¡±


    Adrey looked out the window, and smiled.


    ¡°Until the cavalry arrives,¡± she said.


    <hr>


    <blockquote>


    Poetry is to the Yunei as swearing is to the Enerlish¡ªubiquitous in their conversation, and thoroughly confusing to foreign visitors. ¡ªJaveer Alondro Sal de los Fragua, The Outside View


    </blockquote>


    <h2>Meeting the Emperor</h2>


    Imperial Palace, Yonguitang 09.06.03.12.14


    Ellaenie had not quite known what to expect of the Enlightened Emperor. She knew from Rheannach¡¯s briefing on the political structure of the Yunei that her host sat at an interesting intersection of power: in theory, his own was absolute and unquestionable. If the Emperor ever issued a decree or command, every one of the Students of Yunei were duty-bound by the Proper Way to do their utmost in realizing his will.


    In practice, the Emperor never issued decrees or commands. He was a spiritual being, an enlightened one far above the mundanities of material life. It would have been most Improper for such a one to sully his purity of purpose with anything so base as mere supreme executive authority.


    Nor, of course, was it Proper for him to officially welcome a foreign head of state, for centuries of doctrine had it that the Emperor was supreme over all lands, peerless above all barbarian chieftains.


    The Crowns had made it very clear that some of Yunei¡¯s teachings about Propriety were now to be reconsidered in light of the changing world, and the Proper Way itself was now undergoing scrutiny and reduction. An unheard-of situation, and one likely to cause great unrest and turmoil if done too aggressively. And of course, the Emperor needed to acknowledge Ellaenie¡¯s rightful rule of Enerlend if he was to be invited by her to send his armies to her country¡¯s aid. Welcoming her as an equal would have been ideal¡­but an unthinkable humiliation to so many Yunei as to make it impossible. Especially given, as was surely inevitable with barbarian chieftains, the uncouth foreigner¡¯s lack of manners.


    The Emperor¡¯s approach to this thorny problem was considered, gentle and sensible: He chose to welcome Ellaenie in the manner of closest friends, with a cozy minimum of ceremony and the expectation that the usual rules of etiquette were somewhat more relaxed between them.


    All of which entirely failed to prepare Ellaenie for what she saw when the Empress escorted her into her royal husband¡¯s presence.


    He was down on his hands and knees playing rambunctiously with the Crown Prince and a dog.


    The Empress suppressed a laugh. ¡°Husband? Our friend the Duchess of Enerlend has arrived. Perhaps a little more dignity, please?¡±


    A nanny swept forward to resume her vigil over the Crown Prince, a cute lad of perhaps six or seven years, who gave Ellaenie a fascinated gawking stare as he was ushered to the edge of the room. The Emperor chuckled and rose from the mat, dusting off his knees and smiling broadly.


    ¡°So soon! Your Grace Ellaenie, welcome, welcome!¡±


    They traded bow and curtsey, and then Ellaenie, almost without noticing it, had accepted his arm to take a turn around the garden with him while the Empress attended to tea. on the surface, he came across as affable, calm, untroubled. But with the Sight¡­


    There was no demon. There was no cage. The Emperor was just¡­who he was. He was the most perfectly integrated man Ellaenie had ever met, which was absurd! Even Sayf and E?rrach had caged demons!


    He noticed her astonished interest. ¡°I take it I am not what you expected.¡±


    ¡°I¡­have a knack for seeing deep into people. It was the first skill my mentor and Beldame taught me.¡±


    He chuckled affably. ¡°Not an easy talent, and I cannot claim to share it. My own efforts have been devoted inwards, rather than outwards.¡±


    ¡°I can tell.¡±


    ¡°Indeed? And what do you see?¡±


    Ellaenie told him. She explained about the Sight, about the demons in the souls of men and the various kinds of cages they were locked in. How even her husband kept his own slothful, lazy demon, and E?rrach had his lustful, dominant one. As she did so, they wound a slow and intricately winding path through a densely planted garden alive as much with green shrubs as with flowers, fountains and lanterns.


    The Emperor considered her words as they strolled beneath a stone arch. ¡°¡­A fascinating insight into the Divine Ones.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯d be the first to say, they made this world and the people within it because they still think there¡¯s much to learn. It seems they¡¯re right¡­but how have you¡ª?¡±


    ¡°Lifetimes of focused study.¡± He gave her a serious look. ¡°You know, of course, that our tradition holds that the human soul does reincarnate?¡±


    ¡°Yes?¡±


    ¡°I am privileged to know for a fact that it truly does. I am my father, and my grandfather, and my son all at once. We are¡­notes in the same song, perhaps we could say? But the Emperor is unique in maintaining such cohesion. Most people¡ªand it is a mere statement of fact without insult that I include you in this, Your Grace¡ªsimply¡­bounce around as the vagaries of their karma dictate. I do not.¡±


    ¡°You are your son?¡± Ellaenie looked back toward the reception room where the Crown Prince was in animated conversation with his mother. ¡°Then¡­who is he now?¡±


    ¡°He is me. We are one. A soul is an immaterial thing, Your Grace. Why should it follow the same flow of time as the material shell of our bodies?¡±


    Ellaenie considered this, then considered the boy, exerting the Sight once again. He was a boy, of course. Young, unfinished and raw. But¡­


    ¡°When this body dies, my soul will be reborn as my son, and I shall live for a while in my own presence,¡± the Emperor said. ¡°Imagine paper folded back upon itself many times, so that instead of one flimsy sheet you have a strong rope.¡±


    ¡°Surely the influence of others besides yourself is important?¡±


    ¡°Of course! Paper cannot fold itself.¡± The Emperor smiled. ¡°All analogy is imperfect. And I am not perfect either. Not yet. Perhaps I never will be. Lately, I have been reminded of my duty to the temporal and physical¡­and the fact that attending to it will require war.¡±


    He betrayed a sigh, the first hint of troubled thinking she¡¯d so far seen in him. ¡°How is it we have come to a time when war is the most enlightened option? Or is it just that I am not enlightened enough to see the alternative?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s comparatively easy to be enlightened in a palace, Your Majesty,¡± Ellaenie pointed out. ¡°Nils Civorage grew up grubbing and scraping for every mouthful of bread.¡±


    ¡°Very true. And that is why his fall is forgivable. His patron, though¡­¡± The Emperor shook his head sadly, and they completed their turn around the garden in silence.


    They returned to the reception room and sat down just as the water for tea was boiling. The Empress smiled at her husband, and set about carefully washing and heating the cups, and the smell of fresh tea leaves added to Ellaenie¡¯s sense of cultivated serenity. The Emperor¡¯s gardens reminded her of Sayf¡¯s Oasis, though this place was ascetic where her husband¡¯s was aesthetic. There was a hedonism in Sayf¡¯s appreciation of beauty and sensation that wasn¡¯t present here¡­and a neatness that E?rrach¡¯s cabin by the lake ostensibly rejected, even though that too was just as much a cultivated and prepared garden.


    Ellaenie didn¡¯t sigh as such, but just for a moment she felt a twinge of nostalgia for the brambly, unkempt, untamed, uncivilized depths of the Auld Forest. The uncharitable thought flickered across her thoughts that even the Crowns wouldn¡¯t quite find enlightenment until they learned how to find it in a boggy hole full of nettles and poison ivy.


    She set that thought aside. It wasn¡¯t relevant to the much more material concerns of the day, and for that, she was introduced to Lord General O-Jeng Liung, who bowed so low his beard swept the floor. It was a little forced, Ellaenie felt: bowing to a foreigner still didn¡¯t sit comfortable with the general¡¯s view of the world. But it was, nonetheless, an entirely Proper show of deference.


    ¡°Your Grace.¡± The general remained low.


    Ellaenie returned the bow at the precise angle dictated by Yunei rules of propriety. ¡°Lord General.¡±


    Liung straightened, tucking his hands into the wide red band that girdled his waist. He was a very square man, Ellaenie thought: his torso was nearly as wide as it was long, with the thick midriff that spoke to a combination of luxurious diet and fearsome strength. He wore the simple brown robes of a soldier, though the fabric was of a much finer quality and cut than any line infantryman¡¯s, and embroidered with his personal seal.


    ¡°The armies are mustered, your grace,¡± he stated with careful formality. ¡°By the decree of my lord the Enlightened Emperor and the will of the Crowns, the Students of Yunei stand ready to march to the liberation of your city and to reinstall you as the rightful ruler of your lands. We await only your invitation¡­and the method by which we may do so.¡±


    Ellaenie smiled and, again, bowed to him in the form that showed deep gratitude. If not for her training as a witch and the aid of the Sight, memorizing al these rules and customs so quickly would have been beyond her. As it was, she could sense when she¡¯d got it right.


    She replied with equal formality. ¡°I, Ellaenie Crownspouse of House Banmor, rightful Duchess of Enerlend, rightful Earl of Vathelan and the Heighlands, rightful Baron of the Old City, witch of the Herald¡¯s Coven, Wordspeaker and Dame-emeritus of the most excellent Order of the Veil, do hereby invite and request the aid of the Students of Yunei in recovering what is mine by right, custom and law. I ask this not for my personal advancement, but for the gain and benefit of all.¡±


    Liung returned her bow, then bowed to the Emperor. ¡°My lord, most Englightened Emperor, the request is made. Your armies await your order to mobilize.¡±


    The Emperor nodded, took up a ceremonial fan, and described a graceful arc through the air with it before snapping it open and laying it before him on the ground. ¡°The order is given.¡±


    ¡°Then, Your Grace, we need only to know our road¡­¡± the general repeated. Ellaenie smiled and rose to her feet.


    ¡°Your road,¡± she said, ¡°is through the forest.¡±


    <hr>


    <h2>Outside in Eclipse</h2>


    Crae Varthen, the Craenen 09.06.03.12.18


    ¡°This feel¡­very stupid.¡±


    Deng-Nah shivered as he looked around. He had never in his life contemplated going outside in Eclipse, and now¡­here he was.


    ¡°It¡¯s fine. Garanese nightwatchmen and Eclipse Wardens do this all the time,¡± Jerl said.


    ¡°How many is taken each year?¡±


    ¡°None. They take it very seriously. Relax, will you? I¡¯ve done this before myself¡­¡±


    ¡°And if we is¡­are taken¡­you un-do it?¡±


    ¡°I won¡¯t have to. Trust me.¡±


    Deng-Nah scowled and continued to glance around him, unable to resist the fearful tremor that shook through his limbs with every step.


    Jerl was right, he knew. The two of them were, if anything, even better illuminated than they had been inside the Jolly Tar Inn. Jerl¡¯s long coat was sewn here and there with little pockets made of a thin, translucent fabric fronted with a fine wire mesh, into which a lit magestone could be inserted. One on the breast, on in the small of the back, one on each upper arm, just above the elbow. Between them, the lights cast a decent pool of illumination around him, so that the Shades flowed and slithered out of his path as he walked.


    He¡¯d helped Deng-Nah modify his own clothes in the same way. It was safe. Deng-Nah could see it was safe. Certainly, this was the exact same protection that had kept him safe for the last twenty hours in the Jolly Tar. Mere stone walls and wooden doors were of no use at all if the lights failed¡­


    But they did at least allow one to pretend the Shades weren¡¯t there.


    Not so out in the street. He¡¯d never laid eyes on them before. Never wanted to. Been too much of a coward to.


    There weren¡¯t terribly many. This Eclipse would last a long time, but it was not deep. The eclipsing mote was high above, its darkness during the daylight hours more of a twilight than the pitch blackness Jerl had described crashing into down on the Unbroken Mote. Perhaps a dozen, maybe fifteen, stared at Deng-Nah and Jerl, slithering to a new vantage point every so often as the pair of them walked along the higher road above the river bank, below the castle walls. As he and Jerl went past, they would turn their whole bodies to stare, never moving their heads or their eyes. Those last expressions of horror, terror, despair and panic, those wide unblinking eyes, the rivulets of shadow eternally weeping down their cheeks¡­there was no life in them. No sentience. Not even any malice, really. The poor things were no longer human enough for malice.


    He studied them as they went past. There was an old man with a white beard that fell to just above a pleated kilt that still somehow suggested a russet brown tartan even in black and grey. There was a young and pretty woman, her final expression a particularly unbearable wail, which was perhaps explained by the way her hands still wrapped protectively around a round, firm belly. There was a young man in a gambeson, his face snarling in defiance and rage as though he¡¯d been fighting to the last.


    There was even a Yunei, a woman with her hair shaved at the front and grown at the back into a braided queue, a style which marked her as having been taken during the second Emperor¡¯s reign. Her eyes were closed and her expression serene. Perhaps she had meditated, seeking peace when she knew her fate was inevitable.


    It was so easy to make up stories about these things that had once been people. That was what made it so hard to look away. But the whispering made it impossible.


    The locals had certainly commented on it. Those whose business took them outdoors in such times, wearing light coverage similar to their own, had come stomping in to the Jolly Tar with disturbed expressions, and ordered stiff drinks before settling down to gossip about this new and unwelcome behaviour.


    ¡°¡¯Tisn¡¯t nat¡¯ral,¡± one had opined, after tipping an entire pint of beer down his gullet in a series of unnerved gulps and shivering from scalp to sole. He¡¯d then promptly rounded on the Queen¡¯s crew. ¡°It¡¯s no¡¯ ¡®yer doin¡¯, is it? You an¡¯ ¡®yer damned elves¡­¡±


    Mouse, fortunately, had talked him down. But they were all fairly certain that the same conclusion was going to spread quickly throughout the people of Crae Varthen. And who could blame them? After all, it was exactly the truth.


    Still, the whispering was the only clue they had to work with. Otherwise, the runes on the Word Vault remained utterly impenetrable. Amir had offered a perspective on it that Deng-Nah had honestly struggled to follow, but if he understood it, the navigator had suggested that in addition to up and down, left and right, fore and back, it was possible to think of other directions. And it was possible to ¡°squash¡± directions down: one could draw a cube on a flat piece of paper as a series of squares and parallelograms. And if all you had was a line, you could even think about what the cube would look like as a series of dots and lengths along the line.


    Deng-Nah prided himself on not being a stupid man, but this concept had taken quite a long time for him to grasp given that it was both a very foreign way of thinking, and being explained to him in a language he still did not speak well, via the translation assistance of a man who was himself hearing it for the first time.


    It had become especially difficult when Amir started talking about what it would be like if a cube with a whole fourth direction cast its shadow into their world of three directions, but that such a thing could be described with mathematics, in theory. And in short, perhaps it would help to think about the runic puzzle on the vault as being like rotating a more-directions object and watching the way its shadow changed on the six two-direction faces of the vault¡­


    ¡­Deng-Nah had absolutely no idea how that mental image was supposed to be helpful.


    It had almost been a relief when Jerl finally suggested they step outside to face the Shades directly and see if the whispering was of any use. Thus far they had strolled in a slow loop up along the old, straight road behind the castle to the site of the ancient elvish amphitheatre. It was still there, and apparently used by the Crae Varthen population for their own entertainments, which seemed to be mercifully short on murder and gratifyingly rich in poetry.


    Three hours of sitting in their little private pool of light and listening to the muttering dead all around them had yielded nothing but the desire for a stiff drink, so they were heading back, now.


    ¡°¡­A thing I wonder is¡­why there are no old Shades?¡± Deng-Nah mused, out loud.


    ¡°Say again?¡± Jerl frowned at him, and indicated the elderly bearded one.


    ¡°No, not age. Old from long ago. Never see Ordfey slaves, or First People.¡±


    ¡°Shades haven¡¯t always been around, mate. The first of them appeared maybe¡­two thousand years ago?¡±


    ¡°Really? No Shades before then?¡±


    Jerl shrugged and looked again at the poor souls haunting them. ¡°The way Sin tells it, the Nornfey were created when E?rrach punished a Set called the Unelmasa for some terrible, unforgivable crime.¡±


    ¡°Sounds...not like him.¡±


    ¡°Yeah. Sin¡¯s right, I really should get Ekve¡¯s opinion at some point.¡±


    ¡°Why you don¡¯t?¡±


    Jerl shook slightly, as a chill entirely separate and yet much alike to the one the Shades gave him ran up his back. ¡°¡¯Cuz he gives me the fucking willies, mate.¡±


    ¡°¡­Willies.¡±


    ¡°Heebie-jeebies. Creeps. Uh¡­he unnerves me and makes me uncomfortable.¡±


    ¡°Oh. Well, yes. Because you¡¯re sane.¡±


    Jerl¡¯s laugh seemed to surprise the Shades: they all took a step away from him, before pushing forward to the edge of the light again. He sobered at the sight, and lowered his voice. ¡°Well¡­still, he¡¯s living proof, isn¡¯t he? E?rrach punished him, but he fit the punishment perfectly to the crime. You can¡¯t deny, Ekve deserved what he got.¡±


    ¡°Only recent, though. Only now. When he had to.¡± Deng-Nah slid a few runes listlessly about on the vault¡¯s surface. They both paused and pricked up their ears as something that sounded like it could be a word joined the random babble and susurrus. But it was gone as soon as it was heard.


    ¡°...Yeah. Otherwise he lets things go. But everyone felt his anger that day, apparently. And Sin doesn¡¯t lie, at least not to me. Something got him genuinely wrathful.¡±


    Deng nah dragged a rune in a spiral around one face of the vault, ending where it began. It had rotated and changed by the time it finished its orbit. ¡°Something real bad, then. Like making the Shades?¡±


    ¡°Dunno. I figure that¡¯s the sort of level of evil you¡¯d have to do to really seriously piss off King E?rrach of all people. Dammit, I wish Ellaenie was here to ask¡­¡±


    ¡°¡­Funny thing. I always thought Shades must be, uh, accident. The Crowns always say, ¡®we are not perfect, we are not gods, we make mistakes.¡¯ I thought, Shades must be one of their mistakes. Who else has power to make something like them?¡±


    Jerl shrugged. ¡°A Herald?¡±


    ¡°None would. Except the four you told me about, and their power the Crowns took away.¡±


    ¡°Hmm¡­¡±


    Jerl turned to look at the nearest shade, a bearded man of perhaps forty years, whose last expression was one of terribly sad resignation. ¡°¡­What say you, huh?¡± he asked it. ¡°The name Chathamugah ring any bells?¡±


    The Shade, of course, did not react in any way. It just kept muttering nonsensically.


    ¡°No? Nimico? Vedaun? Iaka¡ª fuck!¡±


    In response to her name, the wretched shadow¡¯s mouth had stopped moving, as had every other shade¡¯s. The street fell silent. Slowly and in straight-line movements, they all turned and looked off into the distance, raising their faces toward the distant white arc of the Unbroken Mote. For a second or two they stood there, still and staring and silent.


    Then, as suddenly as they¡¯d done it, they returned their horrible hungry attention to Jerl and Deng-Nah and resumed their whispering.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go back to the inn,¡± Deng-Nah pleaded. ¡°I need a drink.¡±


    ¡°¡­Yeah.¡± Jerl shook himself ¡°You and me both.¡±


    He rose to his feet, turned back toward the Jolly Tar, then stopped as though a lightning bolt had struck him. He¡¯d already gone pale from the Shades¡¯ discomforting reaction to Iaka¡¯s name, but now the color drained out of him entirely and he stared.


    Deng-Nah followed his gaze. There was a Shade standing in the middle of the street, staring at them and muttering.


    But unlike every other Shade he¡¯d ever seen, this one was smiling.


    <hr>


    <h2>Fitful sleep</h2>


    The Jolly Tar, Crae Varthen 09.06.03.12.18


    Sinikka blinked and opened her eyes, and considered the expanse of ruddy chest hair in front of her.


    It was a good chest. Derghan had the genuinely fearsome strength of a man whose daily life consisted of moving heavy things around in between bouts of hammering on metal. The body under her cheek was hard with just the right sheathing of softness from a healthy appetite. Solid. Dependable. Comforting.


    Hers.


    ¡°Whuzzat?¡± she mumbled.


    ¡°Said, ¡®yer vamdraech¡¯s diggin¡¯ into me¡­¡± he rumbled sleepily.


    It was digging into her as well, she realized. Quite uncomfortably. ¡°Mm¡­sorry.¡± She shifted position, transferring from resting on his belly to tucking herself into the crook of his arm. She touched the reassuring weapon to make sure it was properly situated directly above her heart, and relaxed again. Suicide and safety was only a single swift motion away.


    Crowns, she hated Eclipse. She could never sleep properly when it was about. The thought of the light failing while she was unconscious and oblivious to the danger, not having enough time to kill herself before¡­


    Derghan gave her a squeeze. ¡°Gives me the fuckin¡¯ creeps too,¡± he commented. ¡°Mebbe I should wear a vamdraech as well.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s always confused me why humans don¡¯t¡­¡± she admitted, and sat up. Sleep, unfortunately, was slipping out of her grasp. And between the furnace heat of his body and the fireplace in the corner of the room, she was suddenly acutely aware of being much too warm for comfort. ¡°It¡¯s not like being taken is a desirable fate for you either, nay?¡±


    ¡°True enough. Got no fuckin¡¯ clue where my soul¡¯s bound for when I go, but I¡¯d rather go there. I¡¯ll make one when I get the chance¡­though, let¡¯s face it. Jerl wouldn¡¯t put up with either of us being taken.¡±


    That, at least, was a comforting thought. Sin relaxed somewhat, smiled, kissed him, then slipped out from under the blankets to go splash on some cold water from a ewer and basin in the corner of their room. The water was only lukewarm, but it was still refreshing enough for her to sigh contentedly and do some of her stretches and contortions. Derghan made love with a rough strength that just about rattled her brains out the top of her head, and that was just how she liked it. But the body needed a certain amount of realigning afterwards.


    He sat up to watch her, his eyes roving hungrily over her as she limbered up.


    ¡°Enough,¡± she stated firmly, ¡°Mercy. I can take no more.¡±


    ¡°Bullshit. You can go longer¡¯n me and we both know it,¡± he said with a grin. ¡°Besides if I ever don¡¯t watch you stretching, you¡¯d better start preparing my pyre. It¡¯s the best sight in all the worlds.¡±


    She snorted and flicked some water at him to his delight. ¡°Ass.¡±


    ¡°And a bloody shapely one, aye.¡± He grinned at her, then rose from their bed and started sponging himself down. She couldn¡¯t resist glancing down as he did so and taking a moment to appreciate what she saw. He was right: it really was very shapely. ¡°S¡¯pose we¡¯d better check everyone¡¯s alright, though,¡± he acknowledged.


    Sin sighed. ¡°Crowns know, I¡¯ve seen more Eclipse lately than I¡¯m happy with. Between the Thundering Hall and now this¡­¡±


    Whatever Derghan¡¯s reply might have been, they were interrupted by raised voices from downstairs. They frowned at each other, then scrambled to dress.


    Sin managed it first, and took the steps in a single graceful bound even as she knotted up a shirt across her chest. She alighted at the bottom with nary a thump, to find Deng-Nah waving his arms animatedly and trying to make himself understood by some of the R¨¹wyrdan, whose own grasp of Garanese was even shakier than his own.


    ¡°What is it? What¡¯s going on?¡± she asked. ¡°Where¡¯s Jerl?¡±


    ¡°He saw¡­He¡¯s out there.¡± Deng-Nah waved an arm toward the door. ¡°We go out.¡±


    ¡°Red Lady¡¯s arse, why¡¯d you do a thing like that?¡± Derghan demanded, clomping down the stairs as he fastened up his belt.


    ¡°To hear Shades. Hear their whisper. Maybe it will help with the vault! But Jerl¡­¡±


    ¡°What?¡± Sin asked. He couldn¡¯t have been taken, she felt it in her bones. Jerl had always said if he was ever killed, then time would wind back. Surely that applied to being taken as well?


    ¡°There was¡­a strange shade. Smiling shade.¡±


    The bottom dropped out of Sin¡¯s stomach. ¡°Smiling?¡±


    ¡°Yes. Big, warm smile. But sorry, too.¡±


    Sin shivered. Her hand moved to her vamdraech. Then she marched to the coat hooks and grabbed her own jacket. ¡°Light! I need stones!¡±


    Deng-Nah obligingly lit some for her, so bright they made several of the crew blink and shield their eyes. In seconds she¡¯d slotted them into their pockets. She took a deep breath to steel herself, gripped the handle of her vamdraech, and surged out through the door into the eclipse beyond.


    Groping, babbling figures fled from her ligt as she emerged into the gloom. She gritted her teeth, gripped her escape knife so hard her knuckles creaked, and strode up the quay with Deng-Nah trotting at her heels.


    Jerl was easy to find. He was sitting on a bench in a little plaza where four or five narrow alleyways came together outside the caisteal¡¯s barbican. And standing in front of him, staring at him and whispering, was the shade of Arneld Holten.


    For a moment, Sin completely lost all sense of her surroundings. She was back on the Queen¡¯s deck twenty years ago, pouring magic into her own limbs to find the strength to overcome young Jerl¡¯s thrashing manic desperation and haul him to safety, helpless to do anything but watch as her friend and oath-holder died.


    Arn¡¯s expression was exactly as she remembered it. That sympathetic smile, sorry for the boy but still suffused with glad relief that he would survive. Eyes that radiated love for his son even in the moment he suffered the fate worse than death. Shit, his spirit was even still wearing his wedding band.


    She shook herself back to alertness and glanced around. The other shades were still screaming, weeping, wailing and pleading at her as they maintained a respectful distance from the lights. But for some reason, while they clustered around herself and Deng-Nah, reaching and groping toward them, only Arn¡¯s shade was haunting Jerl, and its hands remained by its sides.


    Jerl¡¯s eyes were dry, despite an expression of total misery. He glanced up at Sin as she put a hand on his shoulder, reached up and squeezed her fingers gratefully, then looked back up at the shade.


    ¡°¡­I¡¯d almost forgotten his face,¡± he said. ¡°I can¡¯t remember his voice. Not really.¡±


    Sin didn¡¯t know what to say. The most she could offer was lame and inadequate: ¡°I¡¯m sory, Jerl.¡±


    ¡°Why now, though?¡± he asked. ¡°Why ever? There are¡­how many shades? There must be millions. I should have gone my whole life without ever seeing this one. Instead¡­here he is. Why now?¡±


    She squeezed his hand. ¡°It¡¯s not him, Jerl. It just looks like him.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s where you¡¯re wrong.¡±


    They both tore their gaze away to look at Mouse, who shivered nervously and pulled his coat tighter around his shoulders as though afraid it would spontaneously fall off. The glow from their own magelights made his pace seem pale and gaunt.


    ¡°They¡¯ve never shown any sign of there being anything left of who they used to be¡­¡± Sin pointed out.


    ¡°But there¡¯s still something. Like¡­like cut cable flapping loose in a gale. A shred of memory. A whisper of an echo. Minds don¡¯t just vanish. You can cut pieces out of them, but¡­¡± Mouse gave the shade a horribly sad look. ¡°¡­There¡¯s something there, some¡­.shadow, that remembers having a connection to you. Your presence comforts it.¡±


    ¡°¡­Say that again?¡± Deng-Nah requested.


    ¡°Say what?¡±


    ¡°That word. Cuh¡­connection.¡±


    They all heard it this time. The whispering around them hitched, or tripped over the word somehow. For a moment there was the sense that it meant something beyond simple mindless utterance. Deng-Nah gave the shades a wide-eyed look, then considered the box in his hand.


    ¡°Connection?¡± he asked, uncertainly.


    The world vault remained stubbornly closed.


    Jerl looked up at his father¡¯s shade, then sighed, pressed his hands to his knees and used them to push himself upright. ¡°¡­I love you, Dad,¡± he said, softly. ¡°I¡¯ll find a way to set you to rest, I promise.¡±


    Arn¡¯s remnant, of course, simply continued to smile at him. They trudged back to the Jolly Tar in silence, filed inside, and shut the Eclipse out with a collective shiver of relief of being somewhere warm and well-lit, even though in every technical sense they were no safer indoors than they had been out there. The warmth of the fireplace and the aroma wafting from the kitchen both created a feeling of security


    Sin watched Jerl trudge away upstairs to his room. She¡¯d go check on him later, she decided. Here and now, he needed to be alone.


    She glanced over to the corner where Ekve was seated in cross-legged meditation. She sat opposite him and considered the face before her. As always happened with reincarnation, there were features there she recognized from his previous chal. Something about the straightness of the nose, the wide flare of his ears and squareness of his chin were definitely his, and had been across al his lifetimes. A human might miss the subtleties and claim a reincarnated elf bore little resemblance to their previous life, but two fey who knew each other well would never fail to recognize each other.


    And Ekve and Bekhil had been long, passionate and intimate lovers across thousands of years and every permutation of their respective genders. And they had both undergone a punishment that no-one else in all the worlds had suffered, or deserved. There was nobody in all of history or creation who knew her better, or whom she knew more intimately.


    But that was a conversation she¡¯d been putting off for weeks, and would continue to put off. Here and now, she went to the bar and ordered a very stiff drink.


    She needed three.


    <hr>


    <blockquote>


    Professor Enst Beldrade was held in such high regard in his time that his word was (and still is) considered lore and the foundation of all magical study. This should serve as a warning and example to us, as he was, in several important regards and subjects, consistently and remarkably wrong. The veneration in which he was held made it difficult to make progress in those fields for a long time. Indeed, even now, more than three hundred years after his passing, there are still some subjects where the words ¡°but Beldrade says¡ª¡± forecast a long and heated argument. Alas. It would be so much simpler if the man had had the good decency to just be wrong about everything. ¡ªProf. Zurak at-Tubur, speaking at the annual Navigators¡¯ Symposium, 09.06.01


    </blockquote>


    <h2>To War</h2>


    The forest¡¯s edge, Yonguitang 09.06.03.13.01


    Give them some theatre.


    That had been Pal¡¯s advice, just before Ellaenie set out to do this, and it had immediately made Sayf grin and nod approvingly. ¡°Give them some theatre, love,¡± she¡¯d said as she fussed over Ellaenie¡¯s clothes and brushed aside imaginary flecks of lint and dust. ¡°It¡¯s as much for your own benefit as for theirs. When the time comes, be the Crowns¡¯ Witch, as fully and as flagrantly as you can be.¡±


    ¡°But don¡¯t forget to be the returning Duchess as well,¡± Sayf had added.


    Lisze had instantly figured out what balancing those two should mean. It had taken some experimentation, some hasty tailoring and dressmaking, but the result¡­


    When Ellaenie alighted from her palanquin, she did so wearing white. White was the color of her father¡¯s regiment and the Ducal flag of house Banmor. But it was also white for the Craft in its benign, healing form. At its core, the outfit was just the regiment¡¯s dress tunic and riding jodhpurs¡­but Lisze had expanded on that beginning in a dozen subtle ways.


    For a start, there was the half-cloak in the blue and gold tartan of Crae Alltud, a tribute to Thaighn Saoirse. Lisze had chosen just the right fabric so that it billowed dramatically as the wind caught it. Then there were the Craft fetishes, bird skulls and old hard nuts and dropped feathers where a wizard of the Art would have worn magestones and an ordinary commander might have worn medals and brocade rope. Rather than a sword, she bore a wand of antler. And rather than boots, she was barefoot. She¡¯d need to be, for what she was about to do.


    In deference to Yunei custom, she had welcomed the aid of the Empress¡¯ maids in painting her face completely white, with a black lip stain which was apparently the Proper combination for a general about to march to war. They had braided and tied her hair up quite elaborately¡­though she had insisted on using another length of antler to pin it, rather than the lacquered sticks they had first offered her.


    The result satisfactorily balanced three forces. The duchess, the witch, and her debt to and respect for the Yunei.


    It certainly impressed Lord General Liung, who muttered something to an attendant, which was promptly written down, before giving a bow of greeting that was a good deal more respectful than mere formality required. The Sight told her she¡¯d rather awed him.


    ¡°Your Grace.¡±


    ¡°Lord General.¡±


    Liung turned and gestured, taking in the mustered army with a single sweep of his arm. Ellaenie couldn¡¯t deny the chill that rushed through her as the soldiers unanimously sent up a salute, a shout that was smeared out by scale and the speed of sound into a single booming deep-throated cry. She almost shivered.


    ¡°The army awaits. We need only our route, your Grace.¡±


    They had marched to the edge of the same forest by which Ellaenie had first arrived. According to maps in the palace, it was some two hundred miles long, packed in among the roots and foothills of the Sho-Eku mountain range. Generations of Yunei farmers had cultivated the land right up to the very edge of what was arable, leaving a neat straight wall of trees bordering a wide plain. It was not the sort of place where a Path Between would usually form.


    But Ellaenie was no longer bound by the usual rules that governed the Paths. It had taken some experimentation and a little coaching from Rheannach, but now¡­


    She turned and planted her feet in the rich topsoil of farming country, wriggling her toes and squirming her soles against the bare earth. She closed her eyes and hummed, holding the note and using it to hold herself steady as she wove the magic.


    At first, she used a tiny spark from inside her own body. Just enough to reach into the reserves she¡¯d previously channeled into the wand and her fetishes. They were living things, or had been, and the essence of life still lingered inside them, lending vibrancy and color and depth to the power, far more than she¡¯d ever have got from a sterile stone. Not more power¡­but more richness of power. The difference between a tune scraped out on a fiddle by an amateur, and the same tune played with soul and passion by a master.


    Now was not the time to compare the relative merits of Art and Craft, however. She pulled the magic out of her fetishes and directed it down, through the soles of her feet and into the soil, where she sent it questing deeper than taproots, deeper and ever deeper, until deep in its core she found the magic that bound the motes to their orbits and held them steady against the sun¡¯s endless displacing push.


    Awareness faded. Some distant, material part of her was chanting sotto voce, though she did not concentrate on the words. She flung herself into the trance, thinking less and less as her consciousness raced outwards to embrace the miles of stone in every direction and the threads of tremendous, familiar will that had set them there.


    And inside her, indelibly and permanently a part of her, was the Word. A fragment of Creation itself. Power unfamiliar, foreign and above, somehow. Power, and knowledge. Into it, she poured the shape of what she wanted to do, and the knowledge that it could be done. In it, she found the understanding of how.


    Slowly, she raised her arm and described a wide sweep with her wand, as though sweeping clutter off a desk.


    Beside her, Lord General Liung gasped. But she barely heard him. Her attention was entirely on the forest as it parted, and parted, and parted. Without moving the trees seemed to slide aside to reveal a path that had somehow always been there. There was no creaking of strained wood, no crackle of protesting roots being broken nor of stone being fractured and shoved aside. There was only¡­widening. A manifestation in the physical world of something that always could have been and now, through her guidance, was.


    For a time.


    ¡°¡­It is ready,¡± she said.


    ¡°You can¡­hold it?¡± he asked, nervously.


    ¡°As easily as leaving a door open,¡± she assured him. ¡°It is time, Lord General.¡±


    He nodded, gave the new yawning trail a deeply awed look, then turned and gestured to one of his subordinates, who gestured in turn. Signal flags were raised. Orders were shouted.


    As one, the army of the Yunei steeled themselves, and marched forward onto the path.

 Chapter 23: Liberation

    <blockquote>


    Insular as the Yunei Empire may be, much can be gleaned of their culture from speaking with their exiled diaspora outside the Gate, or in cities abroad such as Auldenheigh or Long Drop. One thing I can attest to is this: they are a gentle people who prefer poetry, art, and the cultivation of Proper living in all things¡­but they know perfectly well that war has its Proper place. And they pursue it with the same dilligent precision as they do any other endeavor. ¡ªPrince Ruber of Valai, My Travels


    </blockquote>


    <h2>Foreign Land</h2>


    The Auld Forest, Enerlend, Garanhir 09.06.03.13.01


    Jung-Shu, outrider captain of General Liu¡¯s third scout cohort, had been waiting for his horse to spook, and with good reason. Nono was about the most skittish mare he¡¯d ever ridden, a beast whose unmatched fleetness over rough terrain was perhaps explained by her jittery nerves. She¡¯d been known to bolt at falling leaves, light gusts, and the squeak of her stable door that she heard a dozen times a day, every day.


    The sight of an entire forest yawning wide to present them with a wide road into its depths ought to have had her rearing and bucking, but instead she placidly shook her head and swished her tail, as though absolutely nothing had changed.


    Horns blew. Around them, the infantry shouted in unison and advanced. Nono tossed her head and pranced sideways a little at the sound of male voices raised in a marching song, and Jung-Shu dug his heels slightly, encouraging her forward.


    It wasn¡¯t Proper, but he grinned under his helmet and mask as the horse sprang forward. A coward she might be, but Nono only needed a direction to aim her nervous energy in, and she was the fastest thing on four legs. They were the fastest thing on four legs, scout and steed with a purpose.


    The third scout cohort followed him up the wide avenue this Dutsess El-ai-a-nee had opened for them. As they swept past, he got a good look of the woman herself: her foreign clothes and Yunei makeup, her poise as she held up a length of antler, the solemn concentration and slight scowl around her closed eyes as she held the way open for them.


    Jung-Shu knew nothing of magic. He had no idea what went into creating or holding open such a path. In his bones, he felt it must be a fearsome strugle, but the Dutsess showed almost nothing of it. The rumor among the troops was that she was wed to Lord Sayf himself. Jung-Shu could believe it: even the brief, blurry glimpse he got of her as he galloped past was enough to fill him with the certainty that here was a woman of frightening power.


    Then he was among the trees, and Nono was cantering easily up the gentle slope of the foothills. It may as well have been rolling steppe, for there were no roots or stones to trip her, no ruck or mark in the ground to suggest hundreds of trees had just been magically pushed aside. It was as if this easy path had always been there, hidden to mortal eyes.


    ¡­Perhaps it had been.


    Up ahead, a great spirit gate stood across the path. Short pillars of stone, barely more than mossy pillars with long-faded carvings, ran up either side of the bare greenway. Each pair was a little taller than the ones in front, so that they seemed to sweep up on either side of Jung-Shu like the waves on lake Biho during a storm. The last set had a crossbeam, as thick as a horse¡¯s body and as curved as a scabbard. The runes carved upon it were in no language Jung-Shu could read, and yet they were somehow familiar¡­


    No matter. No time to think about it. Nono cantered under the crossbeam, and¡ª


    ¡ªand they were somewhere else. The change in the air¡¯s texture was immediate and obvious. New and unfamiliar scents, foreign shades of green and brown, plants he didn¡¯t know. An instant ago they had been cantering uphill along a green sward: now, with neither warning nor jolt, their path led downhill alongside a bubbling, leaping stream.


    This change really ought to have upset Nono, but the horse just trotted down the slope as though everything was perfectly normal. Behind and around them, Jung-Shu¡¯s fellow scout outriders emerged from among the trees, their heads swivelling in an echo of his own astonishment even while their steeds continued as though nothing was amiss.


    ¡°Great Crowns¡­¡± Jo-Gu commented.


    ¡°Come on,¡± Jung-Shu told him, rather more stoically than he felt. ¡°We have our mission.¡±


    They picked up the pace. Down the stream¡¯s bouncing course they rode while trees of a very alien sort creaked and leaned around them as though taking an interest in these strange newcomers. Some of their limbs bent downwards, and Jung-Shu was struck by an irrational fear that they were reaching down to pluck one of the scounts off his horse for interrogationg. The trees were old, huge, dark and craggy, and their skirts were impenetrable thorny tangles of vegetation. There was only one way forward a horse could take, which felt uncomfortably like being channeled.


    It ended soon enough, though. A bend in the stream¡¯s course spat them out into open sunlight, and Jung-Shu blinked at the world revealed before him.


    It was far more orderly than he¡¯d always imagined foreign lands must be. The fields were divided up with trimmed hedges, rows of coppiced trees and walls of loose-stacked stone. The lanes and ways running between them were packed earth, no different to those he might ride on at home. The houses were different, built from stone and brick with thatched and tiled roofs, but they were not the mud hovels he¡¯d imagined.


    They were all on the far side of the river, though. The stream the outriders had come down merged into a larger flow, the near side of which going upstream was choked with undergrowth right to the edge of the bank. Downstream, though, the land had been cleared for grazing. A herd of brown cattle raised their heads to stare at Jung-Shu, then lumbered away as he spurred Nono into jumping over the stone wall and galloped downriver.


    He had been given a copy of a map, and shown where on it the army would first arrive on Garanese soil. He hadn¡¯t understood how they would arrive in a forest, and he still didn¡¯t understand, but it wasn¡¯t Jung-Shu¡¯s place to understand such things. The map was accurate, as was the predicted arrival. He very quickly confirmed that much by identifying landmarks, and once he had that confirmation, the real work of an outrider began.


    He led his men downriver. Their first target was a bridge, wide enough for men to cross four or five abreast. This he scouted and captured, then left two men to guard while he led the rest of the outriders onwards. There were many farms and noble houses in the area, and they all needed investigating.


    The Enerlish weren¡¯t cowards, at least. At each farm they inspected, the men stood in a nervous line with tools in hand while the women and girls were nowhere to be seen. A few of the bolder and more impudent farmers waved Jung-Shu and his men away, but that was tolerable, especially in light of the language barrier.


    It was as they rode through a hamlet about two miles from the bridge that they found the first major deviation from the map. It was little more than a collection of houses at the meeting of three roads, and the occupants retreated indoors as the outrider thundered through¡­but there was something strange at the far end of the vilage, something not marked on the map at all. A yard of some kind had been cleared, and stacks of timber waited at the foot of some kind of crane. But the feature that puzzled Jung-Shu was a parallel pair of matched steel beams laid on the ground, fastened together by regular large boards and resting on a sturdy bed of coarse gravel. Their purpose was utterly opaque to him, but the assemblage was not marked on the map.


    He sent one of his riders back to report, and continued onwards.


    For the next two hours, their patrol was largely uneventful. Farmstead and village rolled by without incident, and every so often they rose high enough to see past the intervening hills to the sprawl of the city they had come to liberate.


    Jung-Shu paused to allow Nono to drink from a stream, and gazed at it, while his last outriders came up around him.


    ¡°What happened?¡± One of the men asked, in soft tones. There was a haze of smoke over Oh-Dan-Hai, fed by hazy pillars that suggested large fires that had been left to burn down to smouldering rubble rather than damped. ¡°IS everyone dead? Why would they leave fires to burn?¡±


    ¡°A city of stone and brick may not burn so easily,¡± Jung-Shu mused. ¡°But look: we were told to count the enemy¡¯s air-ships. Where are they?¡±


    Sure enough, the sky was vacant of the fat gourd-shapes they¡¯d been told to look for. There were towers along the river that matched what they had been told about, but of the airships themselves¡­perhaps the burning rubble accounted for them.


    Jung-Shu produced his telescope and took a closer look. Some of the bridges were down, and he made note of which ones. And again, another feature caught his eye that was not on the map. The near side of the city was pierced by a broad brownish ribbon of some sort which, when he focused on it, turned out to be more of those pairs of metal beams. They came together like merging streams, or perhaps like copulating snakes, and the districts around them were dominated by large sheds, warehouses, and other such buildings.


    As he watched, a wagon of some kind rolled out of the city. It seemed to move by itself in a flurry of venting steam and smoke, but it rolled easily along the steel and soon was moving with astonishing speed as it headed downriver.


    Stranger and stranger. He wrote that all down in his report as well.


    Scout Mu-Bei sniffed the air. ¡°¡­Scout captain! Do you smell that?¡±


    Jung-Shu looked around and sniffed the air. It took him a moment to catch the scent, and a moment longer to place it: corpse. It was a smell never forgotten once learned.


    ¡°Spread out,¡± he ordered.


    The search didn¡¯t take long. The smell was coming from a fanciful little building, made of irregular stones that had nevertheless been cunningly cemented together and roofed with thatch. There was a garden of sorts out front, clearly well-groomed and decorated with many flowers, but the door and gate were both hanging open. A horse whickered and grumbled at them from its stable, and Mu-Bei dismounted to tend to it.


    ¡°¡­Starved!¡± he called. ¡°Left tied up, and she has drunk all the water. Had we come tomorrow, she would be dead.¡±


    ¡°I imagine I know why¡­¡± Jung-Shu commented grimly. He took a deep breath of comparatively clean air, covered his nose, and marched into the cottage¡¯s stinking interior.


    The two murder victims were in a foul state. Between the carpet of flies and maggots writhing over both bodies, and the fact that some scavenger had clearly broken in and made off with what it could take, there was little to say whether they were men, women, or a couple. Whoever had slain them had simply left them to rot, and that had been¡­what? Ten days ago? Perhaps eight. Plenty of time for the decomposition to reach and pass its most disgusting stage. Jung-Shu clenched his core muscle to quiet the gagging heave that wanted to start in his stomach.


    ¡°Bandits?¡± Scout Hon-Li asked, in the strained tones of one also holding back nausea. ¡°Enemy soldiers?¡±


    ¡°¡­Nothing seems to have been stolen,¡± Jung-Shu pointed out, pointing out a hanging cut of smoked bacon and various other food items that bandits, deserters or fleeing soldiers would have stolen. He indicated a narrow door with stairs leading down. ¡°Search that. I will look upstairs.¡±


    The mystery only deepened from there. The only sign of ransack upstairs was an open cabinet full of clothes, some of which had been pulled out and thrown carelessly across the floor. And the scouts who went down to the cellar reported it contained a most strange tableau.


    Jung-Shu went and considered it for himself. He puzzled for a few minutes over the implications of a bed with shackles, a frame with shackles, and a mannequin clad in women¡¯s clothing and a table with several knives upon it. He especially pondered the meaning of the stained bedsheets, and the pattern of dark brown spots around the frame. None of the scenarios his imagination could design were at all pleasant.


    Still¡­it was an apparently unoccupied property with good views over the city, close to local roads, with facilities for stabling horses and rooms to garrison troops. As forward posts went¡­


    He finished writing his report, and handed it to Hon-Li. As the young scout rode off to reconnect with the main force, he gave orders to bury the unfortunate dead, remove the soiled table, scrub the stone floors, and burn some herbs from the garden to cover the stink. By the time a force arrived to garrison the place, it would be Proper and suitable.


    While his men took care of that odious duty, Jung-Shu stood sentry outside and watched the city through his telescope. Another one of those big steaming wagons were leaving the city along their steel roads, and this time the wind carried a distant shrill shrieking sound to his ears. What were they? Was that business as usual? Were they all going in the same direction?


    So many questions. And more than likely, he would never learn the answers. Such was the lot of a low-ranking soldier. All he could do was obey his training and his orders. So far, it had been easy, albeit sometimes puzzling.


    But it wouldn¡¯t be easy for much longer.


    <hr>


    <blockquote>


    If it wasn¡¯t for the Keeghan clan, the world would remain a much more pastoral place. For whatever reason, this particular family of Craenen have consistently turned outthe world¡¯s finest innovators and inventors. From powered looms and steam locomotives to lift gas and the ethanol engine, they have led the charge for generations. One wonders what their secret is¡­and how we can get some of it. ¡ªMemo to the Outer Worlds Exports board of directors, author unknown.


    </blockquote>


    <h2>Making havoc, hopefully</h2>


    Auldenheigh rail yards, Enerlend 09.06.03.13.01


    ¡°Alright! Send ¡®er out!¡±


    Konar Parvel nodded nervously and disengaged the engine¡¯s break. There was the familiar jolt and rattle, then the accelerating rhythm of traction and gathering speed, and he fidgeted nervously as the yard began to roll past.


    He wasn¡¯t quite sure where the plan had come from or who had given the order. Nobody seemed to know who was in charge in Auldenheigh right now, though somebody was giving instructions, and folks were listening. And why the fuck not? So long as it wasn¡¯t the fucking Oneists or Guild men¡­and people were fairly confident it wasn¡¯t. Konar¡¯s friend Gujta said it was spies and agents of Duchess Ellaenie who¡¯d been hard at work in the city ever since the coup.


    Somebody else had said it was Lady Rheannach herself. Konar believed that one. Something beautiful and terrible had smashed all those airships out of the sky at least, he¡¯d seen the tiny brilliant figure in the midst of those devastating halos of energy. He was pretty sure mortal magic wasn¡¯t that powerful, so that just left the Heralds and the Crowns themselves.


    If the orders were coming from them, then he was more than glad to follow.


    The engine settled into a steady pace, rattling along the brick-walled embankments at the back of the airdocks. It was the first time Konar had been out in the open since the shooting started, and for a brief second the exposure made his skin crawl. If an airship came down on him now, his engine on its rails would be an easy target for cannon.


    But, if there was an airship in the sky, the bells would have been ringing the alarm, he reminded himself. He was safe.


    Up ahead, a lad in the green vest of the railway company threw a switch for him, and the engine rattled sideways across the parallel rails before straightening out again. He was on C line, just as planned. Nothing to do but sit back and drive for an hour or so¡­and try not to think about the packet of burning explosive death wrapped securely in a leather satchel and woollen fireproof cloth at the back of the cab. Or what a shame it was to do this to a faithful, reliable, and relatively new engine.


    The plan was simple: the Oneists and Clear Skies Guild had airships, but they also had big stakes in the rail companies. The airships probably wouldn¡¯t brave the city¡¯s skies now, but that just meant they¡¯d land in Cantre and Urstoin and offload their troops there¡­and the fastest way to get to Auldenheigh from Cantre was by rail.


    So they were blocking the rails. The city needed those rails for its food, its fuel and its animal fodder, but right now it needed to keep out the avenging armies of the false dukes even more. So Konar¡¯s orders were to follow the C line out of the city, head up the King¡¯s Pass line as far as Shepperley, then place the parcels of powder he¡¯d been given and set light to them.


    He didn¡¯t rightly know what they were made of, but he¡¯d seen what they did. They burned brighter than the sun, and made steel flow like candlewax. A couple parcels of that in the right spots would ensure this poor engine wouldn¡¯t ever run again no matter what anyone did. Another couple would weld the wheels to the track, as well as warping the rails beyond use.


    Good luck getting a troop train past that obstacle. And his wasn¡¯t the only such roadblock. If all went to plan, there¡¯d be a wrecked engine every couple of miles all the way to Passgate, and along the other major lines, too. In the grand scheme of things, a nuisance that¡¯d be fixed in a week.


    But may a week was all Auldenheigh needed.


    He held his breath and half-closed his eyes to protect himself from the smoke and fume as he rattled under the road bridge and out into the city outskirts, where it was all workshops and factories to his left and pasture to his right. So far so good. The line had supposedly been inspected all the way out, everything should be fine, but¡­


    ¡­Huh.


    He leaned out the cab window slightly to try and get a better look at the mounted men he could see a ways off. They were galloping parallel to his course along one of the small farm lanes on the far side of the grazing pasture. There was something odd about them, or reallly lots of things odd about them. The way they rode was his first hint, but the bigger hint was the banner one of them carried. He¡¯d never seen one like it, just two squares of colored cloth on high poles that jutted from the rider¡¯s back. And he was wearing armor. Nobody wore armor, nowadays. There wasn¡¯t much point, from what Konar had heard, it just weighed a man down and didn¡¯t do shit to save him from rifle fire.


    But these guys were wearing armor.


    He didn¡¯t get a good look. The engine was up to speed now, rolling along faster than a horse at a full gallop, and a row of trees swept up to hide the riders from view. By the time they were gone again, the track and the road had parted ways again and he saw nothing more of the strange cavalrymen.


    But he thought about them all the way to Shepperly.


    <hr>


    <blockquote>


    A soldier¡¯s weapon is his spear. An outrider¡¯s weapon is his eyes. A formation captain¡¯s weapon is his voice. And a general¡¯s weapon is his map. ¡ªLord General Hei-Geng Lo, War.


    </blockquote>


    <h2>The Lord General¡¯s Forward Command Center</h2>


    Crowvale, the Heighlands, Enerlend, Garanhir Earthmote 09.06.03.13.01


    ¡°What is that smell?¡±


    The outrider captain saluted sharply. ¡°I beg the lord general¡¯s pardon! When we found this house, it contained the remains of two murder victims. They have been given a Proper burial.¡±


    ¡°Murder, you say?¡±


    ¡°So it seems, my lord.¡±


    Lord General O-Jeng Liung looked around the room. He had wondered about the lack of a table or chairs. ¡°How long were they dead?¡±


    ¡°I would estimate eight or nine days, lord general.¡±


    ¡°Curious¡­¡± Liung had to give the men credit. They had scrubbed the stone flooring with vinegar, burned herbs to try and cover the scent, and removed everything the rot had touched. What remained was faint, and likely to fade quickly. Had Liung taken a couple more hours to arrive, he never would have smelled it. ¡°And nobody from the village came to investigate or attend the dead?¡±


    ¡°The village is abandoned, lord.¡±


    Liung nodded, perking up. An abandoned village meant pLenty of good solid buildings to garrison his troops and establish his camp. Better yet, he himself would not have to remain within the charnel house.


    ¡°Excellent work, captain. Hon-O, make a note. Captain Jung-Shu and his outriders to receive a commendation.¡±


    His aide bowed. ¡°Yes, lord.¡±


    Captain Jung-Shu bowed low as well. ¡°The lord general¡¯s generosity surpasses my ability to properly give thanks.¡±


    ¡°In the meantime, captain, see if you can follow one of these¡­¡± Liung glanced at the Duchess, who was wandering the kitchen and scowling thoughtfully. She had explained the concept of a rail road to him during the ride up to this forward post, but now her attention seemed focused entirely on the murder scene. ¡°¡­These rail wagons. I wish to know what they are doing.¡±


    Jung-Shu¡¯s was only the first of many reports. The Yunei army was pouring into an area known as the Heighlands, a stretch of rolling hills and farmland between the river Heigh and the Auld Forest. So far, there had been no resistance nor any sign of enemy forces, but Liung wasn¡¯t going to enter the city until he was certain his rear was secure. He and his men were in a precarious position for the moment, far from home and with no good line of supply back home. Now was not the time for an overabundance of haste. He intended to be fully consolidated and in control of the Heighlands before he marched into Auldenheigh.


    Duchess Ellaenie emerged from the cellar just as he was sending out the latest message riders. Her face was pinched with dreadful worry, and she was holding what appeared to be a garment of some kind.


    ¡°I know who was here,¡± she said. As ever, Liung was disconcerted by the way she spoke in her own language, yet the knowledge of her meaning arrived in his brain as though remembered from a childhood dream. ¡°I know who the homeowners were, who killed them, and why. I must take my leave and go into the city.¡±


    Liung straightened up and bowed. ¡°It is not my place to question your decisions, of course. But if I may counsel patience? Your return to your city should be at the head of the liberating army.¡±


    ¡°The woman this dress belongs to is like a sister to me,¡± Ellaenie held it up. ¡°And something terrible happened to her in that cellar, I can feel it as clearly as I can hear your voice. I¡­¡±


    She looked longingly out the window toward the city. ¡°I can enter the city incognito. No bodyguard. I¡¯ll check up on her and come back.¡±


    ¡°If that is what Her Grace the Duchess deems wise,¡± Liung said, evenly, then lowered his voice. ¡°Does she deem it wise?¡±


    Her face twisted, but it wasn¡¯t in anger. Not at him, anyway. It was a private anguish tearing her between duty and concern for a loved one. After a moment, she gritted her teeth and made a tense noise. ¡°I assume Lord General Liung does not deem it wise.¡±


    ¡°He would never be so rude as to say so, your grace. And he knows that the noble duchess is far from helpless or defenceless. He would, however, suggest to her that our enemies may yet have surprises in store, and plans which take into account her great power. Whatever wound her noble sister has suffered will not be worsened by her patience¡­and might cut deeper if anything should go wrong.¡±


    Ellaenie almost snarled, but again it wasn¡¯t at him. She cast a terribly sorrowful look at the garment in her hands, then nodded and her face became impassive and focused once more. She bowed. ¡°The wise lord general¡¯s counsel is welcome and valued.¡±


    Liung bowed in turn. ¡°He lives to serve faithfully. And he will do what he may to bring forward the schedule.¡±


    ¡°As he deems wise.¡± A small, tight smile plucked at the witch-duchess¡¯ lips, and Liung felt the flutter of a wish that he could be half his actual age. He quashed it straight away turned to his map.


    ¡°I had planned to send scouts and messengers to the city, to the district of Stone Circles. I gather many exiles from the Children of Yunei live there?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°They would have been interpreters. Now, I think, I will send my son O-Shen to represent me more directly. He can create a forward headquarters in the city. That should speed things along.¡±


    ¡°Thank you, lord general.¡±


    ¡°Dust waits in shadowed rooms / to be chased away / by long-awaited return.¡±


    She smiled. He rather got the impression he thought the Yunei noble art of poetic invention bemused her rather than delighting, which was a shame. But she understood his meaning, bowed again, and took her leave.


    The lord general watched her go, then turned back to his map and reports. ¡°Send for Captain O-Shen Liung,¡± he instructed. ¡°I have a change of mission for him¡­¡±


    ¡°Yes, lord.¡±


    ¡°And either tell me another house is ready, or get some incense in here. I can still smell corpse¡­¡±


    Soon enough, though, he was ignoring the smell altogether. He was far too busy orchestrating a liberation.


    <hr>


    <blockquote>


    Every animal species was made by the Crowns alongside us, of course. And this raises some questions. Species like wolves, deer, horses and so on are obviously beautiful, and that alone merits their existence. Bees and other pollinators obviously play an important role in the functioning of the world. Fish are entirely comprehensible as a food source for people. But there are two species whose creation I don¡¯t understand at all: rats, and pigeons. ¡ªJorg Kelson, Nature and Life


    </blockquote>


    <h2>Tending the pigeons.</h2>


    Pickler¡¯s Lane, Auldenheigh 09.06.03.13.01


    Sadie Peason was discovering that she rather liked pigeons. They were warm, and soft, surprisingly cute in fact, and genuinely uncomplicated. All they wanted from life was somewhere safe to sleep with a steady supply of food, and a lady pigeon to inflate their throats at. Give them that, and they¡¯d call that place ¡°home¡± and fly back to it if somebody rudely took them somewhere else and then let them get away. They even enjoyed being stroked and cuddled!


    Crowns, to think she¡¯d ever dismissed them as flying rats.


    So, when the bell rang on the bird cage in the window, she was up and trotting over to it before anyone else in the room could react. She¡¯d have been doing that anyway, of course, it being her job now, but the poor cooing darlings were working so hard recently, they deserved a little fuss and affection.


    ¡°Shh¡­come on darling. There¡¯s a good bird. Awww, did somebody tie this nasty thing to your leg? Let me take care of that for you¡­So inconsiderate of them¡­¡±


    The message was in code and cyphered, of course. But Sadie had always been a fan of logic puzzles and suchlike. It had taken her two days to crack Skinner¡¯s system, Now, she took the message through to the command post where Addie and the others were still moving things around on the map, giving orders to men who came and went¡­


    ¡°This one¡¯s weird,¡± she said, approaching them. ¡°Apparently there are armored horsemen in the Heighlands? They¡¯re even scouting the city¡­¡±


    Addie¡ªafter so long knowing her as Adelia, Sadie was having trouble thinking of her as Adrey¡ªgave a satisfied nod as if she¡¯d been expecting it. ¡°Not a moment too soon,¡± she commented. Skinner merely grunted and placed a chess piece on his map. ¡°Was that the only message?¡±


    ¡°Oh you wouldn¡¯t want to weigh Sir Coosley here down with more than one, would you?¡± Sadie asked, stroking the pigeon¡¯s head and giving Addie an impudent little smile. Addie snorted and shook her head.


    ¡°Sir Coosley, is it? I¡¯m terribly sorry, I had no idea he was a knight of the duchy.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t tell me you¡¯ve given ¡®em all names like that¡­¡± Skinner grumbled.


    ¡°Of course I named them! Somebody had to!¡±


    He massaged his forehead. ¡°Winter¡¯s tits¡­¡±


    Sadie exchanged a grin of secret amusement with Addie, then got serious again. ¡°Are you waiting for anything specific?¡±


    Addie sobered. ¡°I¡¯m expecting the first sighting of Civorage¡¯s counterattack soon. Possibly as soon as today.¡±


    ¡°This isn¡¯t it?¡± Sadie asked, waving the paper.


    ¡°No, armored horsemen are friendly. Probably. What kind of armor?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure. The report says it¡¯s strange. Painted or lacquered black, but the lead rider¡¯s was red with a banner pole worn fixed to the shoulders, and a mask covering the lower half of the face.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s friendly,¡± Adrey said, firmly. ¡°Yunei scouts.¡±


    ¡°Yunei?¡±


    ¡°Mhm. It¡¯s not just your message, it¡¯s a number of other things too. They¡¯ll be sending an embassy into the city before nightfall.¡±


    ¡°Where?¡± Skinner asked.


    ¡°Straight down Cantre Road, I would guess. I¡¯ll be there to say hello. We need to get them into the city quickly.¡±


    ¡°Because the counterattack¡¯s comin¡¯ soon, you say.¡±


    Adrey nodded grimly. ¡°It depends on something I can¡¯t guess at,¡± she said. ¡°Civorage is too¡­volatile for my Word to matter much. He¡¯s not the sort to take a defeat gracefully, but does that mean flying into a rage and coming at us as soon as possible, or does it mean icy calculation? Flip a coin.¡±


    ¡°You guess coin flips,¡± Sadie pointed out.


    ¡°¡­Bad example. Anyway, if it¡¯s the former, the absolute earliest he could reasonably muster forces and get them to Auldenheigh by airship is eighteen hours from now. If it¡¯s the latter, I think he¡¯ll still move swiftly, but he¡¯ll take a little longer to build up a more decisive and coordinated force. That¡¯s three or maybe four days.¡±


    ¡°You figured all that out?¡±


    Adrey nodded again, looking faintly embarrassed. ¡°I wish I could show you the numbers and calculations,¡± she said. ¡°I¡¯m sure they would line up. I just¡­know. I don¡¯t know how I know, exactly. I look at things, and see how they¡¯ll fall into place.¡±


    ¡°So far, she¡¯s been right on every count though,¡± Skinner added. ¡°S¡¯why Jed¡¯s out down Drover¡¯s End right now.¡±


    ¡°Why, what¡¯s going on in Drover¡¯s End?¡±


    Adrey indicated a black chess piece on the city map. ¡°The last Oneists in Auldenheigh,¡± she said.


    <hr>


    <blockquote>


    There ain¡¯t no trick to livin¡¯ through urban fightin¡¯, lad. Ye just keeps lots o¡¯ mates around ye, an¡¯ ye hopes the snipers pick some other bugger. ¡ªOverheard in the Bombardier Inn, Auldenheigh


    </blockquote>


    <h2>Hunting bad guys</h2>


    Drover¡¯s End, Auldenheigh 09.06.03.13.01


    The sound of the shot that killed Carver Innman arrived a split second after his brains painted the air.


    Jed and his squad of deputized men scattered and dived behind whatever cover was available, which was scant. Once upon a time, Drover¡¯s End had been the livestock market, but then the city had grown like it always did, and the market had moved elsewhere. It had left behind an open plaza ringed by old shops and houses, and the best use the city had come up with for the place was to make it a tram stop. Jed¡¯s ¡°cover¡± was a wrought iron park bench like metal lacework, offering no concealment at all and only a coin flip as to whether it would stop a bullet. Still, it was better than nothing.


    ¡°Fuck! Where is ¡®e?¡± Someone yelled, only to yelp in fear at the crack of a scond rifle shot that zinged off the flagstones nearby.


    ¡°We can¡¯t stay ¡®ere!¡± Jed barked. ¡°E¡¯s up dexter end, rush ¡®im!¡±


    ¡°Shit, shit¡­shit!¡± Men broke cover, put their heads down, and sprinted. Jed squirmed his shotgun around and took aim. A fat old serjant was never going to survive that mad dash for safety, but maybe¡ª


    Instinct drew his aim toward a flicker of movement in a window and he squeezed the trigger without conscious thought. Only afterwards did he think to pray it wasn¡¯t some stupid curious kid peeking out¡­


    But no. The battle had taught everyone to keep their heads down, as had the week since. Oneists and Guild marines still roamed the city, taking pot-shots when they thought they could get away with it. Crowns knew, Jed figured he ought to be dead a couple of times over, except somehow he wasn¡¯t. Maybe the buggers just figured an old man was no real danger, cuz they always shot at someone else first.


    In any case, there was a long silence after his shotgun had had its say. But there was no more flicker of movement in the windows, nor any glint of light. Either he¡¯d got the bugger, or they were a canny one.


    Slowly, he stood up. ¡°We lose anyone else?¡±


    The answer was, not physically. Nobody else was dead, but Carver¡¯s best mate Hogen was cradling his body and sobbing, while being consoled by his brother. One bullet had taken at least two men out of the fight, possibly three.


    Odd that it had only been the one shooter, though. Fortunate in the sense that things could have got truly nasty there if the bastards had really given the patrol their all. But the fact they hadn¡¯t made Jed suspicious.


    ¡°We¡¯d best check that building, lads. Be wary. Eyes out for tripwires, traps, explosives, owt like that¡­¡±


    The building in question was a hotel, the Spillway View. Fuck only knew when there had ever been a dam or weir in the area to have a view of, but Jed knew he was only even noticing that little detail because that was what his mind got up to when he was tense. Bloody thing. The interior was unlit, shadowy and cold. Nobody had got a hearth going in days, and the result was shadowy, cool gloom. Jed and his men took every step cautiously, and sure enough they found traps. Or at least, they found the preparations for traps. None were yet actually finished and armed.


    They also find a series of rooms that had recently been vacated. The story seemed obvious to Jed: their quarry had moved on and left one man behind to arm the nasty surprises, except the Countess had sent them out on patrol and surprised the bugger.


    Sure enough, they found the sniper slumped dead by the window in a front-facing room. Buckshot had made a nasty mess of his face and chest, but he still wore the blood-soaked and unwashed kit of a Clear Skies marine. Jed still had no idea if that made him a mind slave or just a stupid fucker who¡¯d thrown his lot in with the wrong side of his own volition.


    The latter, he suspected. The mind-slaved Circle Oneists weren¡¯t really tack-sharp and vicious in the same way as the marines. Jed felt a touch less guilty about killing free collaborators than he did about putting the victims of Civorage¡¯s power out of their misery.


    Only a touch, though. The dead marine couldn¡¯t even be twenty years, yet. Just a stupid kid who¡¯d fallen for lies and propaganda, or followed a half-decent wage to his death.


    Crowns fuck Civorage when all this was over.


    ¡°They can¡¯t ¡®ave been gone long, sarge.¡±


    Jed sighed and shook his head. ¡°Gone long enough, though. If we ¡®ad a bloody smellhound we could track ¡®em, but¡­¡± He sighed and looked around out the window. The old livestock market plaza was surrounded by houses on all sides, not to mention ships, bakeries and other business with apartments above them. And while the last few days had certainly been bloody, most of the city¡¯s population were still hanging on, keeping their heads down. ¡°¡­Time to knock on doors,¡± he decided.


    They did the rounds. Sure enough, there were people lurking in their homes and keeping quiet, and not all of them were willing to talk to the resistance. Jed definitely felt sure there were a few places where their knocking stirred up some stealthy activity behind the doors, but no actual reply.


    There were braver souls as well, though. Including one old coot who came to the door brandishing a cavalry sabre, and had to be delicately negotiated with before he got it into his head that Jed and his men were there to protect him.


    ¡°Ah, they doesn¡¯t move above ground, see,¡± he explained, once he¡¯d been persuaded to put the sword down. ¡°They knows if¡¯n they moves about where folks can see ¡®em, they¡¯ll ¡®ave a fight on their ¡®ands! But I saw¡¯d ¡®em, I did. They went down t¡¯old tributary!¡±


    ¡°Where¡¯s that, now?¡± Jed asked. He thought he knew the city quite well, though this section wasn¡¯t part of his regular beat.


    ¡°Ee, ¡®tis out there under t¡¯old market yard! You can¡¯t ¡®ear ¡®er most days on account o¡¯ ev¡¯ryone all yammerin¡¯ an¡¯ hallooin¡¯, but ¡®tis quiet enough to ¡®ear right now, I¡¯ll bet.¡± The old codger beckoned eagerly and took off across the plaza with a surprising turn of speed for such a loping, geriatric shuffle. He stopped near a drain cover and clapped two long-fingered, leathery hands. ¡°¡¯Ere she is! Th¡¯ol¡¯ girl¡¯s not gone, see, jus¡¯ buried. Used t¡¯be she took away all th¡¯ shite an¡¯ piss from the animal pens, but now she runs clean an¡¯ clear in t¡¯dark¡­¡±


    Sure enough, the grate came up easily to reveal a brick channel, with a good six inches of slightly cloudy water running smoothly along its floor in the direction of the Heigh. When Jed squeezed down into it with a magestone, its ceiling turned out to be decently high for as far as the light reached. An average man would have to stoop and lower his head uncomfortably, and a tall man would really be crowded, but it was certainly navigable.


    ¡°Where¡¯s it come out?¡± he asked. The old man just shrugged.


    For a moment, Jed considered taking his posse and following Civorage¡¯s men into the dark, but he knew it was a stupid idea the second he had it. If they prepared an ambush down there along that tunnel, it¡¯d be the death of them all. With the help of a few of his men, he climbed back out of the buried river, and grabbed a slip of paper from his pocket to write a message. Adrey could chew on the implication that the Oneists knew the city¡¯s underground channels and buried streams well enough to get about. He had a thousand other things to contend with.


    He just hoped their reinforcements arrived soon.


    <hr>


    <blockquote>


    Civorage and his Oneists did a lot of harm, aye¡­but one of the good things he did was, he gave us the trains. You mark my words, when all else of him has been washed away, the trains will stay. As well they should. ¡ªOverheard in the Steam Whistle public house, Auldenheigh.


    </blockquote>


    <h2>Shepperly</h2>


    The Cantre High Railroad, Enerlend, Garanhir Earthmote 09.06.03.13.01


    Shepperly mostly only existed because it was about a day¡¯s comfortable ride from the previous inn town.


    The King¡¯s Pass road was like that. Sure, it meandered left and right here and there to pass through bigger cities like Whitcairn, Torgraffe, Eafan and Tineheave, but those were like the big beads on a necklace: the little beads were villages like Shepperly. Just a place where, since time immemorial, there had been an inn, a forge, a general store and a graveyard. Somewhere to eat and sleep, somewhere to get your stuff fixed, somewhere for the locals to buy things from the city, and somewhere for them to go when they died.


    The grand Cantre rail line ran alongside the King¡¯s Pass road the whole way up, usually no more than a few yards from the road itself. After all, why cut a different route? Why take the risk that the two teams of surveyors and workmen coming from opposite ends might go awry and wind up half a mile apart rather than meeting in the middle?


    Konar had been fascinated by the rail ever since its invention. Airships were majestic and impressive and wonderful, and of course they were the only reliable way to get to other earthmotes., but they didn¡¯t sing to him in quite the same way that an engine and its train of wagons did. He¡¯d known he wanted to be either an engineer or driver from the moment the Clear Skies Guld started expanding Auldenheigh¡¯s railyards and connecting it across all of Garanhire.


    Oh, sure, there was a lot to hate them for. The creeping rule of ever-stricter law, the creepy cult you weren¡¯t allowed to speak ill of or else you¡¯d be the next one to unexpectedly vanish and join them, the whole districts they¡¯d seized by Ducal edict to demolish without a rusty steel piece for the people turfed out of their homes¡­


    The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    But they¡¯d made the trains. And right now, for Konar, that meant freedom.


    Rolling along faster than a horse could gallop, through the broad rolling country on the leadward bank of the Heigh. The sun shimmering off stately waters to his left, and fluttering gently through treetops to his right. Pastures and crop fields, villages and manors¡­


    Enerlend was beautiful country. He¡¯d been only five or six when his parents had come down here from Prathardesh in search of a richer kind of life. As a boy, he¡¯d wondered what insanity had gripped them, that they were willing to brave eclipse and shades (which never came to Prathardesh) for the sake of a little extra money.


    As a man and a father, he understood perfectly. Eclipse was just something you prepared for and lived with. But poverty¡­


    He fished in his pocket and fingered the small keepsake he found there. He¡¯d come far too close to losing Anahi and little Dilhar in the fighting. But that at least would have been quick. His father¡¯s stories of the famine in the old country, of people watching helplessly while their children withered away to skin stretched over skeletons, unable to scrounge even a leaf to feed them¡­


    He smiled and looked around at the countryside again, glad to be here and living the life he haid. The rail carriage company paid well, and his family lived comfortably with good clothes on their backs and a hot meal in their bellies twice a day. What more could a man ask for?


    He frowned as he registered movement in the sky ahead, then grimaced and pulled on the brake lever. Far away, he could see a stream of dark dots emerging over the shoulder of Satyr¡¯s Horn. Airships. Dozens of airships.


    ¡°Shit¡­.¡±


    The brakes squealed, and the engine shook and rattled as he stopped as quickly as he could make it. Normally, he¡¯d have hated to do that to the poor girl, or to the rails, but of course¡­wrecking the track was his entire reason for being here. He grabbed the satchel and hopped down out of the cab before the engine had even finished rolling.


    It took him just three minutes. One charge at each point where a wheel touched the rail, one more each on the cylinders, and the final charge went into the firebox. He lit each one off with some tinder and a long candle, then stepped back to watch his handiwork. In seconds, he couldn¡¯t look at the blaze any longer as the heat and the light got whiter and more blazing with every passing second. It started to rain molten steel under the locomotive.


    More to the point, the wheels and rails melted and flowed like candlewax. By the time it all cooled again, the engine and the track would be a single welded piece of steel.


    ¡°Shift that, you bastards,¡± Konar growled in satisfaction, then took to his heels.


    Along with all the other engine drivers, he had been briefed on the best way to escape from his sabotage. Being well clear of the area before anyone arrived to discover it was one part, but another was covering his trail. To that end, he stuck to hard, rocky ground where he could. Wherever a stream presented itself, he took off his shoes and splashed along a ways until he could escape where the bank was stoney. The important part was to leave no footprints, break no foliage, stay below the ridgeline so as to not be given away by his silhouette, and do his best to minimize the scent trail in case the pursuers brought smell-hounds.


    A couple of hours of that ought to buy him a clean getaway, after which he would be free to make better time along roads and byways.


    By the end of a couple of hours, in fact, he was tired and cold and miserable. The streams running down from the Cantre Mountains in these parts were chilly enough to numb his feet when he waded, and the constant irregular changes in elevation over the foothills had left his legs weak and aching. Eventually, there was nothing for it but to trust he¡¯d done enough and stop for a rest. He found a small copse of three oak trees in a sheltered saddle of the hill, and slumped down among the roots with a grateful groan.


    At least he could have a hot drink. He tipped some of the lukewarm tea from his insulated flask into a tin mug, then held the cup in one hand, a charged magestone in the other, and closed his eyes to concentrate. Konar didn¡¯t consider himself any kind of mage, but in his view anyone who couldn¡¯t heat their own tea with a magestone just wasn¡¯t trying very hard.


    Soon he had a steaming mug that warmed his hands and his belly beautifully as he stretched out under the trees to rest. He searched the sky and found the airships again: they were moving slowly, he realized. Keeping pace with something on the ground? Had they been going at full pace they would have swept through King¡¯s Pass and out over the lands beyond while he was still scrambling in the brooks and thickets.


    Instead they were just drawing level with where he¡¯d left the engine. He risked a look through his binoculars, and realized he could see the stricken machine. Some ember or jumping glead of incandescent steel must have made it into the tender, because the charcoal was still glowing hot enough to see from his present vantage.


    A small team of men in dark uniforms were gathered around, investigating and searching the area. Movement further up the road caught his eye and he refocused on it. He braced himself against the bark to steady his hand, and peered carefully.


    Sure enough, an army was on the march, with the airships keeping pace above them. The Duke of Cantre¡¯s infantry were famous for their black uniforms, and most infamous of all were their light company, the ¡°Highwaymen.¡± A few of them were poking around where he¡¯d left the road and vanished into the woods, but the group seemed more concerned about a possible ambush than hunting him down.


    He hoped.


    Well¡­okay. So the enemy was marching on foot to Auldenheigh, and keeping its airships close. That was good? Certainly it meant the city had a good three or four days before they arrived. He just wished he had the means to tell them so. He could probably stay ahead of the regiment, but not by much. And if they caught him¡­


    Konar considered his options as he drank his tea, then made up his mind, summoned up his willpower, and staggered to his feet. It wasn¡¯t duty that got him moving, but the fact his family was in the city. And the Shades would take him before he left them to face a second battle without him.


    He shouldered his bag, gritted his teeth, and forged on.


    It was a long way home.


    <hr>


    <blockquote>


    She was beautiful. And, I don¡¯t just mean pretty in the face. I mean, after a week of rubble and blood and bodies and ash and poor food and all the rest of the cleanup after the battle¡­when she rode down Cantre Road, dressed in white with her head held high like that? It was like waking up from a nightmare. ¡ªOverheard in the Weald Mill Inn, Auldenheigh


    </blockquote>


    <h2>Homecoming</h2>


    Auldenheigh 09.06.03.13.01


    For the first time since the fighting erupted, people were daring to come out into the streets in large numbers.


    There was no cheering. But the looks on their faces told Ellaenie there would be, later. Here and now, the grief and shock were still too near, and too many of them didn¡¯t believe they were safe yet. They were probably right in that, too. Auldenheigh was about to stand alone against the armies of the other duchies, and though it was doing so with unexpected support¡­


    Well, that was another reason most of the crowd were silent. The Yunei soldiers were a thoroughly outlandish sight.


    Still, there were a few who called out as Ellaenie rode past.


    ¡°Crowns keep you, ma¡¯am!¡±


    ¡°Hail the rightful duchess!¡±


    ¡°I knew you¡¯d come back, your Grace! We all knew you would!¡±


    And so on. Ellaenie acknowledged each one with a smile, a nod or sometimes a wave. The adulation was gratifying, but she felt rather more kinship with the ones who stood silently and watched, hopeful but not yet convinced. Their seemed the more sensible attitude, to her.


    She was acting against the advice of several people, she knew. Riding openly down the King¡¯s Road atop a horse, wearing her house colors in a position of honor? She was inviting a marksman¡¯s bullet. It would have been an act of insane arrogance for anyone else, but the Word flowed under her skin like the inverse of sweat. Let the sniper take his shot: Ellaenie was bulletproof. The sight of his attack ricocheting from her skin would be a powerful statement.


    She did not ride haughtily, though. The people of Auldenheigh needed the same duchess she¡¯d been on the day she knelt in the dirt and healed the victims of a fire. They needed leaders, not overlords.


    The Yunei of course had a slightly different philosophy, and General Liung was emphatically not bulletproof, so he was only going to enter the city once the forward elements of his force had confirmed the safety of his route. That was for the best. Ellaenie could tell a good part of the uncertainty here and there in the crowd was the sight of these foreign soldiers marching behind her.


    Still¡­


    She turned in the saddle to look at them. The troops were in perfect lockstep, shoulder to shoulder, their armor and equipment gleaming and their expressions fierce. They looked every inch the kind of fighting force that Auldenheigh needed right now. She just hoped they had time to prepare properly, or a great many of these young men would be dead soon. Men who had, unlike Enerlish soldiers, never volunteered. The Yunei were changing many things about their society in the face of the Crowns¡¯ coming and sitting and philosophizing with the Emperor and his lords, but Ellaenie doubted their caste system or conscription would go soon¡­


    She turned around and considered the Elven Barbican in front of her. It was, ostensibly, the last piece of elfish masonry left in the city, though in point of fact it had been repaired, patched and rebuilt so many times over the thousands of years since the Ordfey¡¯s fall that it was now a byword for the philosophical problem of identity over time. Was the Barbican still elven when pretty much every cubic foot of it had long since been replaced or repaired by human hand?


    Then her attention drifted downward to the arched gate, and the person waiting for her there. And all other thought ceased.


    Adrey.


    Oh, Crowns.


    Witchcraft had its black reputation for a reason, no matter how undeserved. It could, well¡­bewitch. Beguile. Derange and demoralize. The Sight pierced hearts to reveal who people truly were, and thereby manipulate them. A skilled witch¡ªand with all appropriate modesty, Ellaenie was a very skilled witch¡ªcould read a stranger like an open book at little more than a glance. When it was somebody she knew and loved, though¡­


    She saw everything. She knew everything. She even felt it, or an echo of it. The sensation was almost like being tortured herself. For all her training, willpower and sense of necessary dignity, she scrambled off her horse and sprinted to embrace her friend.


    ¡°Oh, Adrey!¡±


    Adrey went rigid with surprise at first¡­then hugged painfully tight. Considering how much taller and more well-built than Ellaenie she was, the effect was suffocating, but that just let Ellaenie see deeper.


    She was vividly reminded of something she¡¯d seen just three days ago, while being served breakfast in the Imperial palace. Yunei tradition apparently had it that the Proper color of earthenware for high nobility¡¯s breakfast was a dark grey, but on this occasion Ellaenie had noticed that her teacup was strikingly decorated by a number of blood-red lines.


    When asked, the servant had demurely explained that the cup had been broken and repaired: the tea set was more than a hundred years old, and made by a man recognized as the master of his trade. It would have been deeply insulting to the late master¡¯s spirit to throw away his creation for lacking just one broken cup, so instead the pieces had been carefully put back together. But it also would have been insulting to the old master to pretend his work had not suffered any damage, so the repair was made in a vibrant, contrasting color to acknowledge this part of the item¡¯s history.


    Ellaenie could see Adrey quite clearly. Could see how completely her friend, her sister, had suffered, and how it had been more than she could bear, how she had been pushed beyond her breaking. And then¡­she had been put back together with even greater delicacy, care and respect than that teacup.


    Talvi¡¯s handiwork. Ellaenie would know her cool, soothing touch anywhere.


    ¡°I¡¯m okay,¡± Adrey said. It wasn¡¯t quite the truth, but it wasn¡¯t quite a lie or a delusion either. It was a resolution, rather than a statement. ¡°I¡¯m¡­¡±


    ¡°Oh, Adrey. What happened?¡±


    ¡°¡­I¡¯ll tell you when there¡¯s time.¡± Adrey took a deep breath and, with a strength of will Ellaenie had never before seen in her or guessed she might possess, she straightened her back and attended to the task at hand. ¡°Your city awaits. Welcome home, Your Grace.¡±


    Right. Yes. Ellaenie drew strength from her friend¡¯s example and stood taller as well. ¡°Is it secure?¡±


    ¡°The usurper duke and his guard still hold the palace, and there are raiding parties of Guild marines at large, but¡­yes. For the most part, Auldenheigh is secure. Skinner will give you the full details, but your Yunei allies should be able to join us without trouble.¡±


    Ellaenie blinked at her in surprise. ¡°How¡ª?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m a Wordspeaker now too. Though¡­¡± Adrey gestured behind her to the columns of soldiery. ¡°They were rather a heavy hint.¡±


    Adrey couldn¡¯t help but chuff out a small laugh at that, then nodded. She turned to the messenger rider who¡¯d come up beside her, and focused her powers to translate for her as she gave him an order. ¡°To Lord General Liung: it is safe to enter the city, as agreed.¡±


    The man saluted sharply, mounted his horse, and vanished back down the way at a gallop. Ellaenie surveyed the men who¡¯d marched behind her, then made her decision.


    ¡°Okay,¡± she said. ¡°Let¡¯s get to this briefing¡­and then, if we can, I want my palace back.¡±


    The smile that touched Adrey¡¯s face was smaller and tighter than she remembered ever seeing before, a shadow of her previous mirth¡­but she also knew it was the biggest she¡¯d given in some time.


    ¡°Yes, Your Grace.¡±


    <hr>


    <blockquote>


    They were so convincing. That¡¯s what gave me the shakes afterwards. They were nice people, they sat and talked and they really listened to me and sympathized with my problems, and made me feel welcome. I wanted to go back. I would have, if things had gone different¡­and then I learned the truth, just in time. So I¡¯m still a free man. But part of me still wants what they offered. ¡ªOverheard in a militia barracks, Auldenheigh


    </blockquote>


    <h2>In bed but not asleep</h2>


    Airship Infinite Ascent, between earthmotes 09.06.03.13.01


    Each airship was its own creature, as every airman knew. No two were quite alike in the rhythm of their sway, the precise timbre of their timbers¡¯ creaking, the exact voice of their engines or the note of air rushing past their hull.


    For most of his life, Nils¡¯ ship had been the Make Your Own Fortune, and by an unhappy accident the Infinite Ascent was from the same shipyard and built almost exactly the same. The result was that though she was different, she was subtly different in a pervasive way that allowed Nils to almost be lulled into forgetting¡­until he noted that the pitch of the engines was just a tiny bit wrong, or that the Ascent¡¯s timbers creaked just a fraction later in the steady sway.


    Losing the Fortune had been painful indeed, but at least he hadn¡¯t been aboard her when she was torn apart by the spectacular violence of what could only have been a Word. Death held no fear for him, as he had any number of Encircled bodies waiting for him to move in. It might even be liberating to die.


    But he¡¯d rather not, just yet. Not until he must.


    Right now, he was just glad to be back aboard a ship, surrounded by the Encircled. After all the stress and the dismay of seeing the battle for Auldenheigh turn around so swiftly and violently, he¡¯d been¡­tense. Pent up. And the Nornfey were absolutely no use in resolving that particular issue; there was something profoundly unerotic about hag elves.


    Strange that a race of lithe, supple, ageless gymnasts who eschewed clothing should be so. It was the eyes, he supposed. Or the total lack of any personality whatsoever. Or the creeping knowledge of what exactly they were, and the connection they shared with Shades. They were an imperfect prototype resulting from a failed plan, and something in the pit of Nils¡¯ soul revolted at them.


    The Encircled were much more successful. Oh, yes, they were blindly subservient, adored and worshipped him ,and were blissfully happy with their lot because he¡¯d made it impossible for them not to be¡­but within that framework their personalities remained reasonably intact. Some were serious and intense, some were light-hearted and irreverent, some sultry, some flirty, some bold, some shy, some thoughtful and some brash. They were perfected versions of themselves, whereas the Nornfey had definitely lost something when Iaka made them.


    The Encircled lady he¡¯d chosen for a bedroom companion this voyage wasn¡¯t his usual type at all. Normally, Nils preferred slim, petite, refined, youthful girls. Becka was nearly forty and¡­what was the word? Zaftig. Pleasantly round and plump and full-figured, with a cascade of ginger curls highlighted by the occasional strand of silver, and warm hazel eyes surrounded by smile lines. Colorful and soft, as unlike a hag elf as possible. And delightfully vocal.


    Asleep right now, of course. Nils always made them sleep after he¡¯d had his fun. The sound of gentle contented breathing helped him relax, and relaxation helped him clear his mind to attune it to the more distant of his Encircled and see through their eyes.


    There weren¡¯t many left in Auldenheigh, and he¡¯d ordered them to stop fighting for now. The Marines were a lost cause, they¡¯d fight and get picked off one-by-one and thereby keep things tense and uncertain in the city, but the civilian Encircled had shed their robes and symbols and blended back into the crowd to keep an eye on things¡­though knowing what he did about witches, he kept them well back in the crowd so as to avoid the duchess¡¯ notice.


    Funny that she was riding so brazenly, he thought. One man with a rifle could pop that pretty head like a melon, she must know that. So why wasn¡¯t she afraid of it? It was almost like she was daring him to snipe her. She would only do that if the prospect genuinely held no fear.


    He tucked his hands behind his head and frowned up at the ceiling as he pondered this conundrum. He considered, and dismissed, the possibility that she was willing to sacrifice herself to power some great magic, as Thaighn Saoirse had done. It didn¡¯t fit what he knew of her¡­


    ¡­What did he know of her? He¡¯d had Lisze, of course¡ªoh, and there had been a wonderful girl! So fresh and sweet and innocent¡­¡ªbut he¡¯d claimed Lisze on the same night Ellaenie lost her mentor, fled Auldenheigh and vanished to¡­where? The Yunei Empire? They¡¯d changed dramatically if they took her in, but then again here they were marching with her. And Rheannach herself was her mentor. Nils knew full well just how influential such a mentor could be. Lady Iaka had done far more to change the world than Rheannach ever did, certainly.


    Still¡­the Empire was one of the few places his spies had never been able to reach. Certainly, Oneism had gained absolutely no traction. There¡¯d been a tiny circle-house in Gate, and it had recruited fairly well among the outcasts and deadbeats who were stuck in that dead-end town with no other hope, but he¡¯d never managed to get anyone beyond the wall to start a Circle there, and if he had they likely would have ended up executed or exiled.


    He¡¯d always assumed she¡¯d gone to one of the Crae. There were hundreds of them after all, and many were openly hostile to Oneism. But, the Craenen were the Craenen, they were a people practically defined by their internal conflicts, endless feuds and the fact that the only thing they fought with more than each other was an outsider who dared to interfere and take a side in their squabbling. He¡¯d infiltrated them fairly well, though not completely.


    And¡­that was it, as far as the list of nations he¡¯d failed to infiltrate and influence went. The Yunei Empire, some of the more insular Craenen¡­and the Crowns¡¯ courts, of course. Though only Sayf¡¯s was actually worthy of the name. Queen Talvi¡¯s was notoriously empty, Lady Haust supposedly didn¡¯t even have one, and nobody even knew where King E?rrach¡¯s was. The Oasis was open to all, but every time Nils had sent a spy there the Encirclement broke the instant they set foot on the mote.


    ¡­Hmm.


    ¡­No. Surely not? Somebody like her becoming just another simpering trophy in the Crown¡¯s harem? It would have been an unbearable thought, surely? To fall from the very height of power to being nothing more than a negligent god¡¯s fuck toy?


    Surely not. No. Work with the evidence in front of him. She had come to reclaim her city at the head of a Yunei army, which must mean she had gone to the Yunei Empire. And, somehow, persuaded the most isolationist nation in the world to lend her their armies. What kind of promises and trade must she have brokered to secure that deal?


    Well, she was clearly resourceful and persuasive. She¡¯d shown signs of that sort of charisma as duchess, it was why he¡¯d acted so swiftly to subvert or remove her. She¡¯d been beloved of her people and growing in her power, she alone of all the dukes had posed an actual threat to his plans. In the end, she¡¯d forced him to be quite hasty. And that had been as a teenage girl! The woman he saw riding that horse was far more than she had been eight years ago. He was looking at a formidable adversary, here.


    And then, he saw her dismount and run into her friend¡¯s arms almost in tears, and he smiled.


    So she still had a weakness after all¡­


    <hr>


    <blockquote>


    Weapons exist to equalize. And nothing makes men more equal than the Keeghan Mark Three patented semi-automatic rifle! As YOUR gunsmith for the Keeghan catalog! ¡ªKeeghan & Sons advertisement poster


    </blockquote>


    <h2>Target Practice</h2>


    Crowvale, the Heighlands, Enerlend 09.06.03.13.01


    ¡°So this is a¡­¡¯rifle.¡¯¡±


    The young man had no exile brand, but he must surely have been born in exile. Still, his parents had raised him Properly, it seemed. His manners were impeccable, his etiquette flawless. Only his accent gave away that here was a youth who had never set foot on his people¡¯s home earthmote.


    ¡°Yes, Lord General. This is the Benne type four lever-action carbine. The weapon of Enerlish cavalry. Other regiments from other Garanese lands use different makes, but this would be quite typical.¡±


    Liung considered the object he¡¯d been handed. In form it seemed quite simple: a long tube attached to a shaped piece of sanded wood, with another, slimmer tube below and some metalwork around the join between them and a loop of metal behind that. It was a little too large for his stature, he felt, but that was surely just because Garanese were so tall. ¡°They use this? They deem it superior to the bow?¡±


    ¡°Perhaps his lordship would care for a demonstration to answer his questions?¡± the young man asked, formally.


    Liung nodded, and returned the weapon. ¡°He would.¡±


    ¡°Lord.¡± The youth took the device. With deft movements he swept up the half-dozen brass cylinders he had placed on the table and slotted them into the lower tube with a precise click-click-click. That done, he lifted it and tucked the flat end into his shoulder, aiming toward the most distant archery target.


    The explosion it made as it fired was deafening. Several horses spooked, and even a few of the soldiers flinched. Liung certainly wanted to, especially when the youth swept his right hand forward and down, operating that loop on the device¡¯s underside¡­which neatly explained the phrase ¡®lever action.¡¯ There were two smooth clicks and then¡ª*Bang!¡ª*it shot again!


    It took six heartbeats to shoot six times. And with each shot, Liung saw splintered straw and wood punch out of the target in a decently tight group. Certainly, those were killing hits to a man¡¯s body at a respectable range.


    In the same time, Liung calculated, his most skilled bowmen would shoot perhaps twice. And this is what we will face in battle, soon.


    The young man bowed as he placed the weapon on a table. ¡°Demonstration complete, Lord.¡±


    ¡°So I see.¡± Liung mused over the weapon, then picked up another of the brass tubes. He saw that one end was open, with a dome of some other metal recessed within. ¡°It shoots these?¡±


    ¡°Yes, Lord. They are soft lead. The brass jumps out of the weapon when I work the lever, and another shot is readied in the same action.¡±


    ¡°Hmm¡­¡± Liung looked around, and identified a nearby soldier. ¡°You. Remove your armor and place it in front of the target.


    ¡°Lord!¡± the man saluted then tore off down the practice range at a sprint. He squirmed out of his armor, placed it on the ground, then raced back to his original position, slapping his chest in a salute once his task was done.


    Liung took up the weapon. ¡°I place these¡­metal arrows in this tube here, yes?¡±


    ¡°Yes, Lord. The end swivels open, and the ¡®bullets¡¯ are slid in flat end first.¡±


    Liung nodded, and thumbed them in, appreciating the speed and precision with which the youth had done so. He himself took twice as long. ¡°Now what?¡±


    ¡°My lord would tuck the ¡®stock¡¯ into his shoulder, pulling it tight so that it does not bruise him. Then he would work the lever all the way forward and back¡ªjust so, yes. To aim it well, my lord would line up the little post on the front so that it is between and level with the two notches at the back. And finally, the little hook makes the weapon shoot. The Proper form for precision is to squeeze smoothly and decisively at the end of an exhalation.¡±


    Liung took a second to adjust his grip and sight as indicated. Now the shape of it made sense: his right hand rested perfectly where it could both work the lever and leave his finger resting on the shooting hook. And his left hand easily found a textured length of wood that let him support it comfortably.


    He sighted at the distant armor, exhaled, and squeezed smoothly and decisively.


    The jolt through his body was less than he had anticipated, but it did spoil his aim. He corrected, thinking carefully through each step. The lever. All the way forward, then all the way back. Line up post and notch. Exhale. Squeeze.


    Having found the rhythm, he shot four more times, then placed the weapon down.


    ¡°Fine shooting, My Lord,¡± the young man said.


    ¡°I can see why the Garanese use it. A bow is not nearly so simple to shoot well with.¡±


    ¡°The Lord General is insightful. Shall I fetch the armor?¡±


    ¡°No, let us inspect it where it is.¡±


    They strolled across the grass to where the soldier¡¯s breastplate was waiting for them. Liung stooped, picked it up, dusted it off, and grunted at what he saw. ¡°¡­And this is typical, you say?¡±


    ¡°If anything, lord, this weapon is slightly weaker than the ones carried by infantry.¡±


    ¡°I see.¡± Liung turned and marched back to the knot of officers waiting by the table. He handed the punctured breastplate to its former owner. ¡°Quartermaster! Have this man¡¯s armor replaced if it cannot be repaired!¡±


    ¡°Yes, Lord!¡±


    Liung gave the soldier a grateful nod, then formed a quiet conversation with his four most senior officers. ¡°So. The Garanese are all armed thus. Armor provides little protection, they can shoot from the same range as a bow quite easily, they can shoot three volleys for every one of ours, and I daresay a bag of those ¡®bullets¡¯ represents far more shots than the same weight of arrows, and far less bulky. We must acquire rifles and start training the men at once.¡±


    Company captain Yen-She nodded. ¡°Fortunately, it seems somebody in the city anticipated our need. They have a great stockpile of rifles and bullets set aside for our use.¡±


    ¡°Enough?¡± Liung asked.


    ¡°No, Lord. But the workshops are making more as fast as they may. In the meantime, we may outfit two companies and the outriders.¡±


    ¡°Good enough. Fortunately, it seems an easy weapon to learn. I want instructors to begin training immediately.¡± Liung thought carefully for a moment. ¡°¡­I am reminded of the siege of Genghon. The city had archers in sufficient number to darken the sun, but Lord Mah¡¯s army advanced behind wheeled siege shields and so suffered few losses.¡±


    ¡°My Lord thinks of a fine example,¡± captain Oh-Gong said. ¡°And in defence of this city where there is much raw material our troops could use¡­¡±


    Yen-She tilted his head. ¡°However, outside of its inner walls, this Oh-Dan-Hai is a vulgar sprawl where our troops will need to redeploy with speed and agility. Siege shields may hinder their movements.¡±


    ¡°I counsel we consult the Enerlish fighters,¡± captain Mah-Sung advised. ¡°This is a problem they have faced before.¡±


    Liung nodded at him. ¡°You speak wisely. And we must send men to enter the city to retrieve the stock of weapons and bullets that await us anyway. Have them come back with knowledge as well.¡±


    ¡°Yes, Lord.¡±


    Liung nodded, and dismissed them with a gesture. He turned and watched the young man who had come to demonstrate the weapon for him, observing how he took Proper care of the rifle, cleaning and checking it. There was much to learn here, he could see. And perhaps that was why the Emperor had chosen him for this duty above his fellows. General Liung enjoyed learning new things. He had certainly enjoyed learning war the first time. The chance to learn it a second time filled him with excitement, tinged by just a little dread. What he didn¡¯t know would get a great many men killed, possibly including himself. He must learn swiftly. He must be as open to new concepts as the waters of a lake were to the river¡¯s mouth.


    And he must win a game while still learning the rules. At such times, a man was most off-balance¡­and most alive.


    He smiled, and returned to his command post to await new messages. What he found waiting for him only improved his mood


    <hr>


    <blockquote>


    ¡°They say the Duchess is a witch, and that¡¯s why she had to leave. I say she¡¯s a witch, and that¡¯s why we need her back!¡± ¡ªOverheard from an agitator on the streets of Auldenheigh.


    </blockquote>


    <h2>Meeting and Planning</h2>


    Pickler¡¯s Lane, Auldenheigh 09.06.03.13.01


    ¡°So you can predict the future?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s¡­subtler than that.¡±


    They¡¯d retreated to the command post at Pickler¡¯s Lane, where Ellaenie had been given a thorough briefing on all the city¡¯s preparations for war. It was an impressive list, that ran the gamut from consolidating and rationing the food, to sending out locomotives with thermite charges to melt them to the tracks and even ordering the immediate manufacture of as many rifles and rounds of ammunition as the city¡¯s workshops could produce. Adrey couldn¡¯t quite say how she¡¯d known that Ellaenie would come, or that her allies would need arming, but the fact of her prescience was everywhere to see, once Ellaenie knew to look for it.


    ¡°Alright, you can accurately deduce the future from scant clues.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s closer to the mark¡­¡± Adrey sighed. ¡°It¡¯s getting old very quickly. Most conversations feel like watching a train: I already know exactly where it¡¯s going to go, because the rail is already there, people just¡­follow the track.¡±


    ¡°Always?¡±


    ¡°No, not always.¡±


    ¡°¡­Have I, so far in this conversation?¡±


    Adrey gave her a very tired look. ¡°To the letter. And now you¡¯re going to be sympathetic.¡±


    ¡°Well, you don¡¯t need a fragment of the fundamental nature of reality to deduce that, silly!¡±


    Adrey burst out laughing: clearly, she hadn¡¯t seen that one coming. The laughter faded quickly, though. She was still far too bruised in spirit, and their circumstances far too serious, for her to relax into proper mirth. But it was a moment of levity that Ellaenie could tell she¡¯d needed.


    Still, the smile lingered around her eyes. ¡°¡­Anyway. now we both are Wordspeakers. But I have to ask about yours: didn¡¯t it madden you? When I spoke my word¡­I don¡¯t even remember exactly. I caught a glimpse of something¡­terrible. Something I couldn¡¯t accept or bear. It was too much for me! Talvi herself came and helped me forget!¡±


    Ellaenie reached out and squeezed Adrey¡¯s hand. ¡°You were already in a fragile state of mind,¡± she said, reassuringly.


    ¡°I suppose.¡±


    ¡°Anyway, I suspect King E?rrach put the protection on me in advance. Among a great many other blessings.¡±


    Adrey considered that, tilting her head on one side in a gesture that was new to Ellaenie. ¡°They really aren¡¯t as inactive as their critics claim, are they?¡±


    ¡°They really aren¡¯t,¡± Ellaenie agreed. ¡°But, anyway¡­the palace.¡±


    ¡°Yes. Sadie? Where¡¯s the¡ª? Oh, thanks.¡±


    Ellaenie was actually struggling somewhat with Sadie Peason. The young lady had the strange quality of¡­it was as though somehow she had only recently come into focus. Or like she¡¯d just emerged from a cloud. There was a newness to her as though all her life before the present crisis had just been a pink fog of vague middle-class conscientiousness. And then war had come to her city and it turned out there was a deeply intelligent, organized and capable woman buried underneath, like a gold nugget just waiting for the river silt to be washed off. She seemed to have taken on the role of handling all the papers and communications. One second she¡¯d be cooing affectionately over a pigeon, the next she¡¯d be bustling across the room to retrieve a document, which she would hand to the person who needed it just as they realized they wanted it.


    This she had now done to Adrey with the tiniest smirk of satisfaction. ¡°Map of the palace and assault plans.¡±


    ¡°Thank you,¡± Ellaenie told her. Sadie bobbed a curtsey and then vanished to go retrieve another pigeon.


    ¡°The last free military officer in the city is Colonel Sober,¡± Adrey explained as she spread it out. ¡°He¡¯s been hammering the volunteer militias into a fighting force since the battle, and he put together this assault plan. But it comes with his firm opinion that his men can¡¯t do it. Too inexperienced, too undisciplined. The palace is held by Encircled, including the Duke¡¯s United First of Foot.¡± She shot Adrey a sorry look. ¡°A force of city lads with a week¡¯s training versus a company of actual soldiers under Civorage¡¯s control. Sober is absolutely correct. What I don¡¯t know is your Yunei regiment¡­¡±


    ¡°Fanatically loyal, flawlessly disciplined, and highly skilled¡­with feudal weapons and tactics.¡±


    ¡°Then it¡¯ll be a bloodbath.¡±


    Ellaenie sighed and stared at the familiar layout of the palace gardens and grounds as though her attention would change anything. ¡°¡­Can we just leave them in there?¡±


    Adrey shook her head. ¡°We¡¯re expecting a major battle as reinforcements from the other duchies come to challenge us, all under Civorage¡¯s closely managed control through the power of his Word. If they still exist when the battle begins, the force in the palace will break out and attack our rear at the worst possible moment, in the worst possible place.¡±


    Both women looked up at the sound of the front door below. ¡°Skinner and Bothroyd,¡± Adrey predicted. She tilted her head again in that odd new way; Ellaenie guessed it meant she was focusing on her Word¡¯s power. ¡°They¡­have good news.¡±


    Sure enough, the two men trotted up the stairs into the study and removed their hats in deference to Ellaenie. Skinner straightened his back. ¡°Your Grace. Countess.¡±


    ¡°Good news, Mister Skinner?¡±


    ¡°Might be, your Grace. Think I got the solution to our palace problem.¡±


    Ellaenie glanced at Adrey, who shrugged. ¡°It¡¯s a concern I have worked on all week,¡± she said. ¡°Did you find some old friends, Skinner?¡±


    ¡°Mhm. Though, uh¡­¡± he bobbled his head uncomfortably, glanced at Jed and cleared his throat. ¡°They¡¯re the sort as, uh, could be their reward for their efforts an¡¯ loyalty here would be, as it were, a Ducal pardon for past offenses.¡±


    ¡°¡­How bad are these past offenses?¡± Ellaenie asked.


    ¡°They were enforcers for the Brick Lads, ma¡¯am.¡±


    Ellaenie sighed. The gangs in Auldenheigh were mostly content to sit inside territorial boundaries that had been established a long time ago and deal in their respective vices¡ªgambling, loan sharking and so forth, mostly¡ªbut on those occasions when they did go to war, it got terribly bloody. Given that none of them actually wanted it to get bloody, they tended to enforce order internally with the kind of brutality that would make an elvish torturer smile.


    ¡°As were you,¡± she said.


    ¡°Once upon a time, aye.¡±


    ¡°Well, I trust you, Skinner. If you trust these men too¡ª¡±


    ¡°¡¯Trust¡¯ would be a strong word, y¡¯Grace. But they¡¯re not Oneists, I¡¯m sure of that, an¡¯ they¡¯re all gettin¡¯ on in years an¡¯ it¡¯s no life for a man wi¡¯ family. Could be a chance to go straight is all they need.¡±


    Ellaenie smiled at his honesty. ¡°Fair enough. But what can a few gang members do to get into the palace that a militia company couldn¡¯t?¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll still need the militia company, ma¡¯am,¡± Bothroyd said. ¡°They¡¯ll serve as a distraction.¡±


    ¡°A feint?¡±


    ¡°Aye, ma¡¯am. An¡¯¡­if you were any other woman¡¯ wi¡¯out your powers, ma¡¯am, Crowns as my witness I¡¯d never suggest this. But per¡¯aps you should lead ¡®em.¡±


    Adrey cocked her head, then nodded. ¡°Agreed. With the Craft you can inspire them, and with your Word you can shield them and remain safe on the battlefield.¡±


    ¡°Shield them? I¡¯ve never¡­hmm¡± Ellaenie thought about it, unconsciously cocking her own head in just the same way Adrey did as she considered her Word and the options it granted her. Could she¡­?


    Solid matter was an interesting thing, in that it wasn¡¯t really solid. Nothing ever actually touched as she had once thought of it. It was more like two magnets being placed in opposition so that they pushed each other apart, but on a very small scale that grew incredibly intense over extremely tiny distances. Her trick for hardening her own skin against bullets and blades involved making the tiniest bits of herself stick together with far more strength than usual¡­


    ¡­Was there any particular reason she couldn¡¯t do that to the air?


    She thought about it for a second, then turned and extended a hand, concentrating. There was no apparent change, and she frowned and concentrated harder, feeling she really ought to have succeeded and wondering why she had not. Then Sadie, trotting back from the dovecote with another pigeon missive in hand, walked hard into the invisible wall and fell on her rump with a squeak.


    ¡°Oh, no!¡± Ellaenie darted forward to help her up. ¡°I¡¯m sorry!¡±


    ¡°Wha¡ª? Uh, no, no harm done, uh, your Grace. Just¡­¡± Sadie waved a hand through the air she¡¯d just walked into. ¡°I could have sworn¡­?¡±


    ¡°My fault, my fault. A bit of magic I didn¡¯t think through, properly.¡± And she knew what she¡¯d done wrong, too. This time, when she extended her hand and concentrated she did so with more confidence, and threw in a little bit of fluorescence. This time, a shimmering blue wall of light appeared from floor to ceiling. ¡°Something like that.¡±


    Sadie goggled at it. ¡°Winter¡¯s ti¡ªuh, breath!¡±


    The genteel substitution got a round of chuckles. Then Adrey picked up a pistol and shot the barrier. Ellaenie flinched at the loud noise, but kept her focus, and after a second, Skinner wandered over, bent down, and juggled a hot puck of flattened lead while making little ¡°ooh, hah, ah!¡± noises.


    ¡°Well. That works,¡± he said.


    Ellaenie took the cooling bullet off him. ¡°¡­So. I wade into the fray at the front of the militia, warding off enemy bullets and inspiring them with voice and Sight¡­meanwhile, you¡¯re doing what, exactly?¡±


    Skinner grinned, displaying the gaps in his teeth. ¡°Ruinin¡¯ their ammo reserves, y¡¯Grace.¡±


    ¡°Ruining how?¡±


    His grin got wider. ¡°Shortenin¡¯, ma¡¯am.¡±


    ¡°¡­Explain.¡±


    ¡°Oh, it¡¯s an easy trick. Done it before. We take in tins o¡¯ shortenin¡¯ an¡¯ a magestone. Use magic to melt th¡¯ shortening, tip it in ammo box, get all the rounds coated in fat.¡±


    ¡°After which, if they try to shoot it they¡¯ll foul and jam their weapons¡­¡± Adrey mused.


    ¡°¡¯xactly. The ammo¡¯s salvageable afterwards, it jus¡¯ takes time an¡¯ elbow grease, but they won¡¯t ¡¯ave th¡¯ time in middle o¡¯ battle.¡±


    ¡°I like it. Anything else?¡±


    ¡°Jus¡¯ that the more ferocious you can make th¡¯ fightin¡¯ at front, the less likely they¡¯ll be to notice me an¡¯ the lads in rear.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re leading this personally?¡±


    ¡°Somebody else might fuck it up. Beg pardon ¡®fer m¡¯language, y¡¯Grace.¡±


    Ellaenie laughed, reflecting that her own vocabulary would probably surprise him, if ever he heard her in a more relaxed setting. Instead of saying so, though, she simply shook his hand. ¡°Good hunting then. Let¡¯s get to it.¡±


    Skinner nodded, and vanished down the stairs. Bothroyd saluted. ¡°Militia¡¯s waitin¡¯ for ye, ma¡¯am. I got horses ready.¡±


    ¡°Good¡­Sadie?¡±


    The girl was at her elbow in an instant. ¡°Yes, your Grace?¡±


    ¡°Message for Lord General Liung. His command post is in Crowvale. Give him my compliments, and inform him I am taking a militia to recapture the palace. Inform him he may send units to fortify¡­¡± Ellaenie glanced at Adrey.


    ¡°The barracks at Pond Leadton, the Sinister Gate, and the airdocks,¡± Adrey said, without even glancing at the map.


    Sadie finished scribbling the message, bobbed a curtsey, and vanished. Ellaenie smiled at her departing back, then looked at Adrey, who was giving her a troubled look. ¡°Give us a minute, Serjant.¡±


    ¡°Ma¡¯am.¡± Bothroyd saluted and marched out.


    Ellaenie went and leaned against the table. ¡°Adrey¡­are¡­are you alright?¡±


    Adrey shuffled some papers aimlessly. ¡°The general¡¯s staying in Crowvale?¡±


    ¡°Yes. A little cottage just outside the¡ªoh.¡±


    Adrey nodded slowly. ¡°Did¡­did anyone ever bury the Peltons?¡±


    ¡°The Yunei soldiers did, when they took over the place.¡± Ellaenie considered her best friend for a second, then reached out and fussed with Adrey¡¯s slightly askew collar. ¡°¡­She got inside you, didn¡¯t she?¡±


    Adrey sighed, and shrugged. ¡°She was a witch. It¡¯s not all service to the Crowns and the greater good, you know. The Craft has its reputation for a reason.¡±


    ¡°I know.¡±


    ¡°She¡­¡± Adrey let out a shaky breath. ¡°She plucked some strings I didn¡¯t really know I had.¡±


    ¡°I know.¡±


    ¡°You could too.¡±


    ¡°I would never.¡±


    ¡°I know.¡± Adrey screwed up her fists for a moment. ¡°¡­I have dreams about her. They¡¯re¡­they¡¯re not the sort of dreams I want to have about her. They¡¯re¡­the sort of dreams I¡¯d have if she succeeded. the sort of dreams I¡¯d have if I¡­¡±


    ¡°Adrey.¡± Ellaenie put a hand gently to her friend¡¯s cheek and turned her face to look into her eyes. ¡°You cannot use the Craft to make somebody love you. It¡¯s impossible. You can use it to confuse them, to derange them, to make them obsessed and dependent on you, but none of those are love. You just have a scar she left on your soul, and it will fade in time. I promise.¡±


    ¡°Fade. But never go away completely.¡±


    ¡°¡­No.¡±


    Adrey huffed out a huge sigh and nodded. Ellaenie kissed her forehead. ¡°Come on,¡± she said. ¡°We have a palace to liberate.¡±


    The steel in Adrey¡¯s heart sharpened just a little. It hurt to watch, really. Ellaenie didn¡¯t wish, she knew wishes were largely futile and more often than not would have been harmful if granted. But if she did¡­Well. If she was going to wish Adrey could live without her wounds, why not everyone else? Take away a person¡¯s suffering, and you took away half of who they were, or more.


    But accepting it didn¡¯t mean liking it. The time would have to come to soften some of that steel as well, mend some of those wounds. It couldn¡¯t be today.


    But she would make time.


    <hr>


    <blockquote>


    The Old Game is known by many names across the Earthmotes¡ªTess, Q¨ª-Su, T¨¦as, Tsastafl, or the Feydh root *Chas¡ª*but its history is ancient beyond comprehension. Lady Haust is reputed to have taught the game to the human and elven peoples as she moved among them in the First Times, and though the intervening thousands of years have introduced many regional variants, there are few people in the world who do not know the basic structure. The simple geometry of an eight-by-eight grid, two rows of pieces, and their strict sets of movements. It is a game older than Creation, and almost as deep. ¡ªGwidian Learghen, The Old Game.


    </blockquote>


    <h2>Considering the state of play</h2>


    Airship Infinite Ascent 09.06.03.13.01


    If Nils thought of Auldenheigh and the surrounding country as a game board, then his opponent was thinking two or three moves ahead. Their talent for putting obstacles in his path was both impressive and vexing.


    Take the trains, for instance. Every few miles for hundreds of miles around Auldenheigh, the rails were ruined by sabotage so that his original plan of bringing in troops by train was ruined. Then there was the nature of the sabotage: the huge, melted, burned-out hulks of locomotive engines literally welded to the rails meant either a huge work operation to remove them, or effectively laying an entirely new rail network to bypass them.


    The river Heigh was not so easily sabotaged, but it too had been meddled with. Barges from the city loaded with rubble and refuse had been rotated sideways across the river and scuttled at shallower sections, or the rubble dumped. Either way, troop ships from Betlend heading upriver were being defeated by artificial reefs.


    And inside the city itself, Nils¡¯ eyes and ears on the ground reported anti-airship defences going up everywhere.


    Well¡­no matter. So a swift, decisive counterattack on Auldenheigh had been thwarted. That still left more than fifty thousand square miles of the rest of Enerlend under his control. Whitcairn, Azurmouth, Tailingham, all the towns and cities along the leading shore of the Blue Sea, the Downs, the Cottagewealds, the Edge Counties¡­


    The Cottagewealds in particular were a good target. If he diverted his forces from Urstlend, then he¡¯d be able to cut the city off from Enerlend¡¯s breadbasket. They¡¯d be forced to rely only on what they could grow in the Heighlands. Which¡ªhe consulted the minds and opinions of some of his more learned Encirlced¡ªmight suffice to avert starvation, but the city¡¯s population would be on strict rations.


    He could work with that. Yes. Slow strangulation was his strategy now. He would form his armies around the Enerlish capitol like a noose, and tighten it slowly. Let the Duchess really feel the trap she had built around herself.


    That just left the question of Duke Betrem and his guard in Auldenheigh¡¯s palace. There was no way the Duchess was going to let them remain, of coruse. And try as he might, he hadn¡¯t been able to find a way to smuggle Betrem out of the city. That same skilled game-player had intercepted him at every turn. Which meant it was only a matter of time before Ellaenie¡¯s forces captured him and, most likely, forced that damnable potion down his throat¡­


    He considered the ramifications of that for a moment. Betrem had been installed after Ellaenie¡¯s flight as the most legitimate heir to Duchy. He might have been widely called the ¡°usurper duke¡± but he was legitimate enough to keep order. Of course, it would have been far better to Encircle Ellaenie herself, for many reasons.


    If he was removed from the circle by the witch¡¯s brew now¡­


    The rhetoric Nils had turned to in the held territories was that Ellaenie¡¯s disappearance had been an abdication: she¡¯d run away into the woods to become a witch and practice the dark Craft, and now she was trying to reclaim by aggression and sorcery what she had previously renounced. Betrem, meanwhile, was the man who had stepped in when his people needed him, and deserved their loyalty.


    It was flimsy, to say the least. And once Betrem was stolen from the Circle¡­


    Well, Nils still had need of propaganda, for the time being. It would take lifetimes to Encircle everyone in the world, and until he had, the aimless masses needed keeping in line through subtler, weaker means. Propaganda, law and enforcement, politics, the same old tools. The day would come when they were obsolete, but here and now, he needed them.


    He considered his options carefully, and made his decision. Ellaenie could have her palace back, after she¡¯d fought and bled for it. Let her lose fighting men in the assault. Let her sleep in her old bedroom again, for nostalgia¡¯s sake.


    It wouldn¡¯t do her any good in the long term.


    <hr>


    <blockquote>


    Armies comprise of idiots. You find a number of poor idiots who are willing to dress up in bright colors and stand still out in the open while being shot at¡­and then you find a rich idiot to stand in front of them wearing a special hat to advertise his importance. One would think we ought to have run out of volunteers by now¡­ ¡ªoverheard in the Rackan Club, Whitcairn


    </blockquote>


    <h2>Preparing to storm the gates</h2>


    The Elven City, Auldenheigh 09.06.03.13.01


    Ben Handey was sixteen. He¡¯d lied about his age to join the militia, but that just proved how committed he was. He¡¯d seen people¡ªfriends, neighbors, ordinary folks¡ªlose everything they had in a single volley of airship cannon. He¡¯d seen the body parts in the rubble. And in the quiet of night afterwards, he¡¯d screwed his hands tight and sent silent thanks to the Crowns that his house, his family, his life hadn¡¯t gone the same way.


    What else could he do but join up to fight back? So now here he was, after a week of formation drills and the chance to actually shoot his rifle at a target, and they were about to take back the palace.


    And he got to see the actual duchess herself! Once the militia was in place and everyone was formed up ready to march on the palace, she¡¯d got up on a platform in front of them and spoken to them, and¡­


    ¡­And it was a funny thing, but her voice had been so clear, it was like she was standing right next to him. But Ben could hardly remember what she¡¯d said.


    What he remembered was the light. She seemed to be full of it, glowing. As pure and clean and bright as the light of the sun bouncing off the distant snows of the Unbroken Mote. But not cold. Every word she said seemed to light a fire in his heart and put warmth in his guts and leave Ben feeling taller and stronger and fiercer than he ever had in his life.


    Crowns. He remembered his nan telling him how the Duchess had actually got off her horse and healed people after the riots, just before she supposedly ran away. He¡¯d believed it then, but he really knew it was true now. Looking up at her on that pedestal, it was impossible to imagine her doing less. And she was beautiful enough to make Ben¡¯s young heart hurt.


    He¡¯d have followed her right over the edge cliff, if she ordered it.


    And then, as though to prove that here was the rightful duchess, here was the woman her people needed¡­she led the advance personally.


    Ben didn¡¯t know any fear from that moment onwards. Not even when the shooting started, as they marched through the wide gates into the palace gardens. First one shot, then three, then a rain of bullets from every window on the palace¡¯s front. And that ought to have been Ben¡¯s end, right there: he and all the others should have been cut down in a withering hail of shots.


    But the Duchess simply put out a hand in front of her, and all those bullets slammed into thin air as though it was a steel plate and dropped to the ground.


    What happened next was eerie. The shooting continued for perhaps a minute longer, maybe a minute and a half. It walked here and there up the line of militia as they spread out behind the Duchess¡¯ magic, while Her Grace just stood there, arm outstretched and her gaze fixed firmly on the palace facade. She stood tall, her back straight, her face calm and intent, her hand raised an almost delicate gesture, not as though she was holding back hundreds, thousands of bullets by sheer force of will, but more as if she was calming an agitated puppy.


    Until the shooting stopped. All at once, it ended as though a serjant had yelled ¡®cease firing!¡¯ though no voice was heard. There was a brief pause, then a final volley of gunshots¡­but no more bullets.


    Then silence. And Ben shivered, because somehow he could feel it was no ordinary silence. It wasn¡¯t just the silence of hundreds of people not saying anything¡­


    It was the silence that followed something terrible.


    The woman in black who hovered by the duchess¡¯ side, the one with the short crop of red hair, leaned forward and whispered something. The Duchess frowned, then nodded. The woman in black spoke to the old serjant, Bothroyd, who turned and lifted his voice in a stentorian bellow.


    ¡°Duchess¡¯ militia! Fix¡ªbayonets!!¡±


    The training took over where Ben¡¯s sense of bewilderment and awe might otherwise have rooted him to the spot. His hands moved on their own, tugging the bayonet out from its sheath and locking it onto the lug with only a slight bit of fumbling.


    ¡°Duchess¡¯ militia! Sloooooooow¡ªadvance!¡±


    The drums picked up. Ben gulped, and forced his foot forward into motion.


    Their advance across the gardens seemed to last an age. The only sounds were the drums, and the crunch of boots on the gravel path. No shots cracked out, no voices called in challenge. Just boots, gravel, the faint clink and rattle of gear and equipment, and the sound of Ben¡¯s own breathing.


    By sheer luck, he was almost directly behind the Duchess herself when she reached the palace doors. Without letting her magic shield down, she gestured and the doors simply fell over as though nothing had been holding them up. When Ben glanced at the hinges, he saw that something had cut them so cleanly the bare metal gleamed mirror-bright.


    Inside, though¡­


    Inside was a sight that instantly made him regret signing up. Inside, the palace was littered with bodies. The halls and rooms and galleries where men had fortified the windows with furniture and sandbags now had those same men slumped about them, and it was easy to see why.


    Every single man had tucked his rifle under his chin and fired up through the top of his head. The ceiling of every room and corridor was sticky and dripped foully.


    They did find live men inside the palace. At one point, a group of five in dark clothing with masks over their faces emerged from the back rooms, carrying sacks of¡­Mrs. Bower¡¯s Best Shortening? Weird. They huddled with the Duchess, and there was a brief conversation, then Serjant Bothroyd turned around.


    ¡°You, you, you, you. Come wi¡¯ us. Rest o¡¯ you lot¡­start cleanin¡¯ this mess up.¡±


    Ben exhaled gratefully at his luck of being among the chosen group. The thought of all these men choosing to blow their own brains out rather than surrender was already making him queasy enough. He nodded hurriedly and fell in behind Bothroyd as the Duchess¡¯ party climbed the grand stairs.


    All around him were beautiful rooms, beautiful paintings and expensive furniture. The wallpaper, the carpets, the crystal glass lightstone cages, the very air was richer than anything Ben had ever seen. But the air smelled of blood and gunpowder, and the duchess stormed on at the front of the group in a grim halo that made Ben twitchy.


    They reached a study. one of the men in black jimmied the lock in an instant, and burst through with his pistol drawn, but he need not have bothered: the room¡¯s sole occupant was slumped over the desk, the top of his head a bloody mess.


    Duke Betrem, of House Tellinger. The usurper Duke, maybe¡­but also the rightful duchess¡¯ cousin. Ben caught a glimpse of her face, and saw a tear run down her cheek.


    He and the others promptly stepped outside to guard the study door. They didn¡¯t look at each other. Somehow¡­this hadn¡¯t gone how any of them expected. They¡¯d expected¡­well, a fight. A struggle. Maybe to die in battle, though Ben was powerfully glad he hadn¡¯t. But this? For the enemy to just kill themselves rather than surrender? It left a horrible sick knot in Ben¡¯s stomach that he couldn¡¯t untie. There was something deeply wrong about these Oneists.


    The woman in black emerged from the study after a few minutes. ¡°You boys go back to the others,¡± she said quietly. ¡°And¡­pass the word. The Usurper Duke is dead.¡±


    The other three nodded and started moving. Ben lingered a moment. ¡°Ma¡¯am¡­¡± he tried, then cleared his throat and tried again. ¡°What happens now?¡±


    The woman cocked her head thoughtfully. After a moment, she smiled faintly. ¡°You did well today, gentlemen. But today was easier than we dreamed it would be. The next one won¡¯t. So you go back, you train, and you get ready for the real thing, because it¡¯ll be on us sooner than we¡¯re ready. Okay? We haven¡¯t won yet.¡±


    ¡°Yes¡¯m.¡±


    She smiled at him. It was a terribly sad smile, Ben thought. Cold and brittle. On principle that it rarely hurt to salute, he saluted her as smartly as he knew how then turned and trotted off back toward the rest of the lads.


    And he wondered just why he was so upset at having won.

 Chapter 24: Direction

    <h2>Climbing the Mountain</h2>


    E?rrach¡¯s Earthmote, the Nested Worlds 09.06.03.13.03


    Haust was the first to stay behind. It had been a glorious reunion, one far too long in the missing, but in the end she simply wasn¡¯t ready. Her tenuous connection to the material translated into an even less tenuous connection to the Real, and it was all she could do to even approach the base.


    He left her with a fond kiss, and a well-appointed cabin next to a spring glade. She needed to be.


    Next was Sayf. He was a far hardier soul, and they wrestled and sparred low in the foothills, remembering that more visceral nature of man, and the ancient needs of every warrior-soul. E?rrach pushed Sayf¡¯s limits hard, and took the opportunity to greatly and permanently empower him, as much as he could handle. But the Real was not for the dis-integrated or the insufficiently prepared¡ªnot a harsh judgement, that. It was the nature of man to be at war with himself, and E?rrach had been gifted extraordinary opportunities to grow in himself that few ever receive before death. Sayf would find himself, and soon. But not quite yet.


    Like Haust¡­Sayf lacked faith, frankly. And here, faith in one¡¯s self and in one¡¯s final purpose¡ªand how either came to be¡ªwas the only thing that could possibly sustain.


    Talvi followed up past the foothills, and into the first of the climb. Here, the cold began to bite. The air became a real thing he could breathe, the rock no longer a sparse cloud of barely-there electrons he needed to consciously will into solidity under his feet. Now, the world was becoming as Real as he, far beyond the tolerance of even those adapted to life on his earthmote.


    Which was saying something. His earthmote was special in that none but the prepared could walk upon it or enter its airspace. Any who tried were deterred by powerful and subtle magicks, which was fortunate for them, for if they had succeeded they would have been instantly crushed smaller than a proton by the local gravity. E?rrach¡¯s home was partly here but partly elsewhere too, where it was a piece of a planet in a private place*,* one more suitable for a being like the King of Power.


    That made his home a more comfortable, more solid and more real place for a being like him, far transcendent above ordinary matter and spacetime. Here, physics was of a vastly higher order: gravity was many trillions of times more powerful, matter was accordingly denser and more stable, and physical being was so robust, so magnified and mighty, even a blade of grass outmassed the whole of the Nested Worlds countless many times over.


    Yet even that, to a being of his nature, was hardly discernable from the rest of the Nested Worlds, or similarly of the World Before. King E?rrach was as least as far beyond all that as a Herald was beyond an amoeba. Sure, he could unwind even if only a little, yet even that small concession still made him brute enough of a man, the entire earthmote¡ªand therefore the entire planet in its pocket home*¡ª*bounced up and down beneath his feet as he moved about.


    The mountain, though, that was special. The mountain was symbolically and actually an ascent into the realms of the Ascended¡ªa higher dimension to some, the new Creation in an older but perhaps truer mode of knowing. And it¡¯s pull was practically magnetic. E?rrach yearned to finally go into the promised land, could feel the invitation pulling at his very being¡­


    But not yet. If he left now, the world could not survive. The Crowns were not ready to hold the Nested Worlds in being, because they didn¡¯t believe, in all the ways one needed to believe.


    Soon, in the grand scheme of things. But not yet.


    For now, he had an urgent matter to attend to, one only he was mighty enough to handle; might in his full being of course, but perhaps surprising to some, might of the body as well.


    Not even godly matters always escaped the need to punch.


    They made camp in a lodge as they had once done ?ons ago, alone together on the very last ski resort that ever existed. Only a woman could so thoroughly connect a man to where he belonged and Talvi understood that better than anyone, and so it was as ever between man and woman, in all the ways so ancient and necessary to their kind. What he needed most, when he was being so severely tempted by the Real, was the only thing that, in its own inexplicable and wonderful way, was more real than the Real.


    Human connection.


    None of which he received more powerfully than from Rheannach, his heart of hearts, his wife forever. She strove to follow along as far as she could and made it nearly half-way up, though for some time she was not so much climbing as forcing herself to push through air that pushed back.


    He poured his power into her, and this was a point of delicate balance. She could take his fullness, in every sense of the word. But if he truly gave her that in this place¡­she could never leave. She would Ascend entire, because she had not the will to decline Heaven itself.


    King E?rrach did, as a personal gift. The mission he had been given needed it, and so the grace needed to defer that ultimate consummation of being and love was his to mournfully wield.


    And wield it he did, with the promise that, one day, he would joyfully meet his End.


    Eventually, she could barely breathe. She¡¯d come higher than ever before, this time, but in the end she had to sink onto a rock and pant, utterly spent. she gave him a flush, proud grin at the achievement, kissed his cheek, and sat back to wait for him.


    Maicoh and Maingan trotted along at his heels as though nothing was different. The two were unique beings in the history of the World Before or the World Anew. They were rational animals who retained their full irrational capacity to be truly present in a moment, wholly and without any question or guile; completely integrated into each moment of life, without angst or fear or distraction. They were his finest creation, and the one truly new thing he¡¯d made; beings who could abide in the highest and in the most mundane. They could touch the Real, and enjoy it, love it for what it was¡­and happily come back to the nigh-infinitely lower world of the mundane.


    They were saintly companions, in the best possible way.


    When they reached the threshold, the two hounds sat on their haunches by the door, seemingly unperturbed as a light zephyr ruffled their fur. Their complete beings were fully amplified in this place; those big muscular haunches of theirs that were the envy of anything canid became the very essence of barely-contained athletic power. Their minds were keener than the wisest of Heralds, their senses more subtle than words could express. Down on his earthmote, even this feather-light touch of the wind would have scoured a sturdy castle to its foundations. In the World Anew¡­


    Up here, E?rrach felt it as an icy kiss on the cheek. Real cold. The sensation of something actually affecting him, as opposed to merely being noticed. A rare pleasure, nowadays. He took a deep, heady breath of rich, real air¡­


    And stepped forward across the threshold.


    <hr>


    <h2>Day Five of Eclipse</h2>


    The Jolly Tar, Crae Varthen 09.06.03.13.03


    One of the R¨¹wyrdan was looking after Deng-Nah when Jerl slipped downstairs in the early hours of the morning. The Yunei must have fallen asleep at the table as he listened to the whispering Shades and puzzled over his box again. It wasn¡¯t the first time: the sense of urgency was getting to him, Jerl knew. Deng-Nah felt dutybound to get the vault open and speak the Word within, and his obsession with doing so was starting to take its toll.


    He looked relatively peaceful right now, though. Or at least, his head was on his arms and he had a blanket over him.


    The elf¡ªAdhdu¡ªsmiled at Jerl as he checked in on them. She didn¡¯t speak much Garanese, but Jerl was fluent enough in Feydh to get by.


    <¡°Two days to go,¡±> she said. <¡°Then I think he will relax and get some proper sleep.¡±>


    <¡°He¡¯s alright?¡±> Jerl asked.


    Adhdu shrugged. <¡°I make sure he eats well and bathes. His body is¡­adequately well. I cannot speak for his mind. Duty weighs on him¡­where are you going?¡±> she asked as Jerl headed for the door.


    <¡±Out.¡±>


    She hesitated, then nodded her head. <¡±Be careful.¡±>


    Jerl gave her a reassuring little nod, then stepped outside.


    As ever, the Shades immediately looked up and flowed toward him, stopping at the edge of the pool of light his magestones cast around him. There were more of them, now. He cast his eye among the crowd, but didn¡¯t see the one he was looking for.


    He sighed and wandered away up the quay toward the bench he¡¯d picked as his Shade-watching spot. It had a number of advantages, not least of which being that it was directly beneath a lamppost. Whoever charged the lamp¡¯s stone must have been pretty damn good at his job, because the thing was still burning bright a week into the eclipse, with no sign of dimming. Jerl set a few more stones of his own about the place just in case the guy was good enough to make stones that glowed at full intensity right until they ran out, then settled on the bench and looked around.


    He was being weird, he knew that. Or morbid, certainly. There was nothing to gain from communing with Shades, they had nothing to say beyond the nonsense mutterings that might guide Deng-Nah toward opening his vault, if they didn¡¯t drive him insane first. But while the lads on the crew might be content to drink away the week in a tavern and play cards all day, and the R¨¹wyrdan seemed to have bottomless patience, Jerl had something to wrestle with. Something unpleasant he didn¡¯t really want to put into words.


    Shade-watching was a distraction. Like scratching at a scab when he knew he shouldn¡¯t.


    Today, the ones haunting his little pool of light were the usual mixed bunch. A bent-backed old man with the ghost of a walking stick still clutched in a fist so simultaneously skinny and arthritic it looked like a sculpture made of sticks and clay. A woman in a headscarf, her shade defensively trying to hold her baby away from the doom that claimed them both. A boy of perhaps twelve, his expression more subdued than most: he¡¯d been trying to be brave and stoic in his final moment, with the result that his shade wore a permanent trembling lip and wide eyes.


    So many tragedies¡­


    ¡°Mind if I join you?¡±


    Jerl jumped, looked up, and then rose to his feet only to be waved back down by a familiar bearded figure, who grinned at him around the stem of a pipe.


    Nobody could look as astonishingly out-of-place as the Shishah. He seemed to delight in it, and the clothes he¡¯d chosen to wear for this meeting wouldn¡¯t have fit in anywhere, but they fit this place and the company of Shades least of all. His robes were of purple cloth trimmed and edged with gold and white, which seemed to shift seamlessly between blue and red with every fold or change in angle. There was the subtlest hint of a peacock-eye pattern beneath the ever-blending hues, and the whole ensemble was accessorized with gemstones of a similarly uncertain hue.


    His grin grew ever wider at Jerl¡¯s expression, and he swirled around to park himself comfortably on the bench before blowing a smoke ring that scattered the Shades. ¡°Unhealthy habit you¡¯ve picked up,¡± he commented.


    ¡°I¡­suppose it is?¡± Jerl ventured. ¡°Sorry, what are you doing here?¡±


    ¡°Now is that any way to greet a Herald? Where¡¯s your sense of respect and propriety?¡±


    ¡°As I recall, you told me not to stand on such things, last time we met.¡±


    ¡°Alright, is that any way to greet an old friend?¡± The Shishah asked, then brightened and laughed. ¡°Aha! It is either how you greet very good friends, or friends you don¡¯t like very much, yes? And given how¡­disappointed you were in our last meeting, I imagine it¡¯s the latter. No matter, no matter.¡±


    ¡°So¡­?¡± Jerl rolled his hand encouragingly, and got another bark of laughter.


    ¡°So, why am I here?¡± A chuckle. ¡°Because you need to speak with me.¡±


    ¡°I do, do I?¡±


    ¡°You do, do you. Smoke?¡±


    ¡°Not¡­while I¡¯m out here among Shades,¡± Jerl ventured. ¡°Better to keep a clear head, you know?¡±


    ¡°Ah! Only a fool gets too inebriated during Eclipse, yes? But this is just tobacco. The best you¡¯ll ever have.¡±


    ¡°¡­Sure. Thank you.¡±


    The Shishah grinned and handed him a pouch. It was, true to his word, full of the kind of leaf Jerl could have sold for a small fortune. He thumbed a bowlful into his own pipe, and the Shishah obligingly lit it for him with a snap of his fingers. They sat and sipped smoke in silence for perhaps a minute, and Jerl felt himself relaxing. He hadn¡¯t even been aware he was tense.


    ¡°¡­Good stuff.¡±


    ¡°Heh! You¡¯re a man of profound and endless understatement. And poor manners.¡±


    ¡°Ah. Right. Yes.¡± Jerl fished inside his coat and found his flask. ¡°Whisky? It¡¯s Cloudtreader reserve.¡±


    ¡°Much better!¡± Shishah hefted the little container in a toast, took a swig, and handed it back to him. ¡°Good stuff.¡±


    ¡°Now it¡¯s your turn to be understated.¡±


    The Herald¡¯s chuckle was long, quiet, and heartfelt.


    ¡°Now. Seriously. Why are you here?¡± Jerl pressed.


    ¡°I already told you. You need to speak with me. Well¡­¡± Shishah bobbled his head in a curious way. ¡°Not necessarily with me. A rubber duck would do. But I¡¯m rather better than a rubber duck, because unlike the duck I will ask you the hard questions.¡±


    ¡°Such as?¡±


    ¡°Such as what the fuck are you doing here? Do you have the faintest idea what you¡¯re doing?¡±


    Jerl snorted, but somehow couldn¡¯t quite bring himself to look the Herald in the eye. ¡°¡­No.¡±


    ¡°Mm. Didn¡¯t think so. Making it up as you go along, hey?¡±


    ¡°Well, the idea was to get Deng-Nah¡¯s vault open,¡± Jerl said, before sipping some more smoke.


    ¡°And how is that going?¡±


    Jerl shrugged. ¡°You¡¯d have to ask Deng-Nah.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s failing. He¡¯s failing. He was, in fact, always going to.¡±


    Jerl frowned. ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°Jerl¡­do you really think Civorage cracked eight-dimensional geometric encryption just by sitting in a hole and listening to the whispers? Are you really that naive?¡±


    ¡°¡­I¡ª¡±


    ¡°¡ªDon¡¯t know what eight-dimensional geometric encryption even is. Exactly. That¡¯s how far out of your depth you are.¡±


    ¡°¡­Is doing your damnedest to piss people off your usual mode of conversation?¡±


    The Shishah grinned ever wider. ¡°Only with you, Jerl.¡±


    Jerl grit his teeth. ¡°Why?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Because it¡¯s what you need, you odd duck.¡± The Shishah¡¯s smile wasn¡¯t entirely cheeky¡ªas before, it had a benevolence to it, even if his words and attitude were otherwise grating. Jerl forced his impatience down, and thought about what the infuriating immortal had just said.


    ¡°¡­Alright,¡± he said slowly. ¡°How did Civorage break into his vault?¡±


    ¡°Well¡­¡± The Shishah became somewhat more sombre, and made a slight shuffle of his rump which suggested he was settling comfortably into story mode, ¡°¡­he had help of course.¡±


    <hr>


    <h2>Interlude: Ten years previously</h2>


    Ajhazra, Alakbir Earthmote 09.05.14.18.03


    ¡°Yes, of course¡­I can see the wisdom of the point you are making¡­¡±


    Nils smiled at the Sharif of Ajhazra, enjoying the way the man¡¯s usually shrewd expression was softening like a candle left too close to the cooking fire.


    ¡°After all,¡± he prompted, bending the power of Mind to reinforce his tone of confident rationality, ¡°The people of Ajhazra will benefit greatly from the economic activity the city of Long Drop could produce. The rise of a merchant class is the sort of thing Your Eminence could greatly benefit from. The new middle class would be beholden to your wisdom and tolerance¡­and of course, more trade activity means that your eminently fair and reasonable taxes would yield greater revenue¡­¡±


    He smiled broadly. ¡°At least, that¡¯s how it worked on Garanhir.¡±


    ¡°And it will happen here¡­¡± the Sharif mused, after Nils gave him a carefully aimed prod in the subconscious.


    ¡°Oh, inevitably! You, Your Eminence, have a choice before you: you can either be the visionary who led the charge and ushered your people into a new golden age of prosperity¡­or you can be the third camel.¡±


    It was a carefully chosen idiom. Camel racing was extremely popular among the Alakbiri wealthy, but it was a ruthless sport with prize money only for the winner and runner up. The rider in third place got nothing except for a small cut of whatever bets had been placed on them. So to be the ¡°third camel¡± was to collect a pittance while a fortune narrowly slipped from your grasp.


    Of course, some dishonorable riders did rather better than the winners off coming in third, when the right kind of bookmaker was involved¡­but Nils knew that Khamur In-m¡¯Eyara Sharif at-Ajhazra, who was usually guileful and sharp, did not presently have the freedom of mind to calculate such alternative possibilities, or their equivalent. All he thought right now¡ªall he was being allowed to think¡ªwas that Nils was speaking perfect sense.


    ¡°Yes¡­progress will happen no matter what¡­¡± Sharif Khamur agreed, nodding slowly. ¡°Better to be at the front. And b¡¯Eyara, how lucky am I to have my good friend Nils Civorage to counsel me!¡± he added, invoking E?rrach¡¯s Alakbiri name.


    Nils smiled at him. ¡°How could I fail to come to you, my friend? You who were such a kind investor in my mission down to the Unbroken Mote?¡±


    ¡°Pah!¡± something of Khamur¡¯s usual attitude resurfaced in a dismissive wave. ¡°A trifle already repaid tenfold. Not worthy of consideration.¡±


    ¡°Oh, but I insist it must be!¡± Nils said, warming to the purely symbolic back-and-forth. They continued in this vein a further four culturally obligatory times before the Sharif finally graciously and humbly allowed that perhaps Nils¡¯ gratitude was not entirely misplaced¡­


    It would have been a shame to completely convert him, so Nils was rather delighted to discover that he didn¡¯t need to. He already had an army of men he¡¯d hollowed out and turned entirely into his unthinking servants, but they lost something in the process. In most cases, what they lost wasn¡¯t worth keeping, but some men¡­


    Well, Sharif Khamur had something worth keeping if possible. All he needed was a few little nudges in the right direction.


    A bell chimed from an adjacent room, and one of the Sharif¡¯s servants bowed as he opened the door. <¡°Your eminence?¡±>


    Khamur gave the man a look of lazy impatience. <¡±What is it? I am in a business meeting.¡±>


    <¡±Your lady guest bid me remind you of the hour, and extended her invitation to the esteemed Mister Civorage as well.¡±>


    Khamur¡¯s mild indignation faded. ¡°Ah, yes. I had forgotten¡­¡± He grumbled slightly, and rose to his feet. ¡°Please, Nils, my friend. You must come and meet my guest. An extraordinary woman she is¡­¡±


    This was, if anything, an understatement. When Nils and the Sharif were escorted into the dining chamber a few minutes later, they found waiting for them about the most striking woman Nils had ever seen. He had met many a dark-haired, blue-eyed, pale-skinned woman before, of course, not to mention tall women who filled out an elegant but modestly cut dress in a manner calculated to pierce and capture male attention like a fish hook.


    But her mind¡­!


    He had never seen a mind like hers, of that he was certain. And yet there was an aching familiarity there, as though she was somebody he had known well, and recently. It left him with the terribly awkward impression that here was a close friend he¡¯d somehow managed to forget entirely.


    But she was old. The merest brush with the surface of her thoughts was enough to sense a fathomless well of experience, deeper than any lake, thicker than any earthmote, black with secret depths impenetrable to any mortal man¡­


    ¡­and to see her looking back.


    ¡°Nils Civorage,¡± the Sharif made introductions, ¡°Lady Iaka of Blacktower.¡±


    ¡°Thank you, dear Khamur.¡± The lady¡¯s hand was sheathed in a slim silk glove, and the handshake beneath was delicate while somehow suggestive oof enough power to leave grooves in an iron bar. ¡°This is a delight. I have been looking forward to this meeting for quite a long time¡­¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m pleased to know my name has reached your ears,¡± Nils ventured, still having a hard time grasping what he was looking at. His thoughts were whirling, searching for any explanation as to who this woman could possibly be. He didn¡¯t much like the way the Sharif had failed to share her actual name, either.


    ¡°Oh, I have been following your career for some time.¡± She gestured to the table. ¡°Shall we sit and talk, gentlemen?¡±


    They did. Within minutes, Khamur dozed off in his chair as though his small glass of wine had hit him like two full bottles. Unsubtle, but Nils was unrepentant: here was real power, smiling at him across the bread pudding, and there were things he needed to discuss with her that Khamur didn¡¯t need to hear.


    ¡°I¡¯ve never heard of Blacktower,¡± Nils said, carefully negotiating the sticky business of eating delicately at an Alakbiri table. The Ajhazri in particular didn¡¯t seem to consider a dish worth eating unless the recipe involved honey in at least two separate steps, and woe betide anyone who came to their table with anything less than an unconditional fondness for pistachios.


    ¡°With good reason,¡± the lady said. ¡°I prefer obscurity.¡±


    ¡°For its own sake, or as means to an end?¡±


    ¡°Why does ¡®or¡¯ have to enter into it?¡± she asked. She lowered the angle of her face a little, and skewered him with eyes that seemed almost to burn with an inner blue flame¡­


    ¡­No. With eyes that did burn with an inner blue flame. She didn¡¯t have irises in the conventional sense at all, just rings of eldritch fire. Nils recoiled, lurching to his feet so abruptly his chair clattered to the tiles. ¡°What¡ª? What are¡ª?¡±


    Lady Iaka smiled at him. ¡°A Herald, my dear. Or, I was long ago. Now I¡¯m something rather more¡­¡±


    ¡°More?¡± Nils cautiously scooped up his chair. He decided not to acknowledge his outburst of shock, and simply sat down as though nothing had happened.


    ¡°Well¡­less in some important ways. But far more in others. Far¡­freer.¡±


    ¡°Free to do what¡±


    ¡°Free, my dear, to create something like you¡­¡±


    <hr>


    <h2>Crae Varthen</h2>


    The Craenen 09.06.03.13.03


    ¡°Hang on, you weren¡¯t there to see any of this.¡±


    ¡°Why should I have to be?¡± the Shishah asked.


    ¡°You mean to tell me you¡¯re privy to every conversation between Nils Civorage and Iaka?¡±


    ¡°No, no. Alas, no.¡± Shishah shook his head ruefully. ¡°Only that one. And it came as a surprise let me tell you.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°Because up until that day, I thought she was dead. You have to remember, the Crowns made her and the other three mortal, thousands of years ago. Iaka should be long in her grave having lived a long and healthy human life. Instead¡­¡±


    ¡°Here she was,¡± Jerl finished for him.


    ¡°Oh yes. Popped up out of nowhere like a mushroom after rain, with who-knows-what going on under the turf.¡± Shishah blew out an elaborate trio of smoke rings and considered the Shades pensievely. ¡°Well¡­now we know some of what, of course.¡±


    Jerl¡¯s frown deepened. ¡°Are you saying¡­she created the Shades?¡±


    The Shishah sighed heavily, his usual jollity forgotten for the moment. ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°But¡­from what Lady Haust told me of her, I thought Iaka was obsessed with an end to suffering. Why would she¡ª?¡± he gestured to the shrieking, despairing faces all around them.


    ¡°Oh, you¡¯re anthropomorphizing them,¡± the Shishah said, then laughed bitterly. ¡°And who can blame you? But, don¡¯t let the expressions fool you. They aren¡¯t suffering. They aren¡¯t¡­anything, really. They¡¯re no more a person than is your own shadow in daytime.¡±


    ¡°So¡­they¡¯re not¡ª?¡±


    ¡°Your father, Jerl, died that day aboard the airship. His spirit moved on to the grand adventure, whatever that may be: I promise you this, if the Crowns ever caught somebody messing with that, they¡¯d come down with a wrath we can¡¯t conceive. You think what E?rrach did to the Ordfey was impressive? The whole world saw and felt it. But that was just a businesslike sigh compared to what he¡¯d do to anyone, anyone at all, who messed with the natural passage of mortal souls from this world into the Beyond. Your father is dead. What lingers is¡­a shadow. No more a part of him than the one you cast is a part of your body.¡±


    ¡°Then¡­what¡¯s the point of them?¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s an option you¡¯re overlooking,¡± The Shishah pointed out. ¡°For some reason, you¡¯re assuming that a woman so terribly flawed that the Crowns themselves stripped her of her divine nature and cast her down to mortality, gets it right all the time.¡±


    Jerl chewed on that for a moment. ¡°You¡¯re saying they¡¯re a failure?¡±


    The Shishah subsided a little, and huffed out a long, sad sigh. ¡°Oh yes,¡± he said. ¡°An abject failure¡­¡±


    <hr>


    <h2>Interlude: the Unbroken Mote</h2>


    The young man who lay down to be the first gazed up at Iaka with an expression of such total trust and love that she could hardly bear it.


    She¡¯d found the tribe some six years into her wanderings as a mortal. They eked a living on the edges of a great frozen lake. None of them understood the hot springs that littered the area. None of them knew how the rock miles beneath their feet was kneaded and heated by the invisible forces of the worlds as they turned and shifted. All they knew that here, among an otherwise endless expanse of ice and snow, there was liquid water. On clear days, each spring and pool was easily found by the column of mist that rose high above before coming back down as a fine cold powder¡­and that meant the animals came to drink. Deer and elk, muskox, hares and hawks, tiny squeaking mammals and the foxes and wolves that fed on them¡­


    And of course, the humans.


    Life was hard for them. They lived in constant terror of myriad dangers both real (freezing to death, storms, starvation) and imagined (elves, skin-flaying shapechangers, the ghosts of the dead). Their lives were defined by constant hardship, deprivation, cold and fear.


    Iaka had given them comfort, plenty, warmth and love. She had provided for them and loved them, and in return they delved her tower¡¯s foundations and built its heights. Fifty years on from the day she first found them, they lived in her embrace, and she lived in the fountain of magic from the lodehead far below. But still, they suffered.


    Today would correct that.


    Iaka stroked the volunteer¡¯s chest. His eyes were wet with gratitude and adulation. ¡°Are you ready, my love?¡± she asked.


    ¡°I am!¡± he almost sobbed the words. ¡°Take my pain, Mother.¡±


    She smiled, bent down and kissed his brow. Through her lips, the power she¡¯d spent years tapping from the lodehead flowed up and through, down and in¡­


    ¡­It felt wrong. She¡¯d got it wrong, she knew as much instantly, as his flesh dissolved away in a dry swirl. That hadn¡¯t been part of the plan! She tried to reverse course, to halt and correct the process she had started, but she had never planned for this, never spent time thinking about how she might do so. His spirit tried to slip away and she snatched at it desperately. The idea had been to free him, not kill him!


    ¡°No! Stay!¡±


    He did. Or¡­something did, at least. Something tore loose from his departing soul and remained in Iaka¡¯s grasp, but she may as well have been trying to hold on to a breeze. No, less than a breeze¡ªa shadow. It slipped from her grip and slithered out away from her, and the more she fought to contain it, the more magic she drained from everything around. The magestones guttered and faded. Even the fires quenched. For a moment, the room was plunged into pure darkness. The other members of the tribe, who had been waiting their turn to be freed by their mother-goddess, made shocked sounds in the dark, little gasps and yelps of fright, then fell silent.


    Iaka gasped at the cold feeling of something trying to snatch her away. She pushed it back, devoted her full thought and will into resisting as her body tried to disperse.


    ¡°No! Away!¡± She accompanied the cry with a flare of blue fire from her palm, igniting a ring of it on the floor about her feet. It was piercing bright, and the shadows fled from it¡­literally.


    They were human in shape and expression. She even knew their faces. The tribe, all reduced to dust and shades, recoiled as one from her light, then fled into the dark corners of the room and vanished.


    Trembling, she brought the lights back up properly. The eerie, harsh blue glare of her flame gave way to soft magelight. It revealed a scatter of fine ash that drifted and coiled on the lingering air currents, and a scattering of debris: personal effects, little tokens and talismans, dropped in the moment of feeling the¡­the shade¡¯s first touch.


    Nothing else beside remained.


    <hr>


    <h2>The Mountainside</h2>


    E?rrach¡¯s earthmote, the Nested Worlds 09.06.03.13.03


    This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.


    Maicoh and Maingan came trotting back down perhaps four hours after Rheannach had been forced to stop. She herself had retreated a little way back down the slope to where things were less¡­


    ¡­Well. To where things were less.


    She understood his sacrifice best when she could experience the world closer to his true nature. Here, she had a small taste of what was destined for him, destined for all thinking beings who did not shy from the good and true.


    It was¡­a lot. Too much for her, really. Too much of a good thing. Too much reality, so much of it that it scraped raw along her nerves and across her skin. Even the faint rush and hiss of the wind as it blew tiny particles of ice and sand across the ground was an experience profound enough to be bottomless. She could hear every detail of a dry leaf crunching underfoot, taste the air more richly than even a gourmet meal. It was an ecstatic experience beyond her tolerance: after these excursions, she always needed a little time alone in a quiet room to come down from it.


    The hounds were immune, though. Maicoh took her hand delicately between teeth that could snap an ordinary man¡¯s leg clean off, and she walked with them back down the mountain.


    The campsite where Talvi had stayed was abandoned, the fire burned down to coals. They paused a moment to enjoy the warmth, then continued on downwards until they were back in the forest where they¡¯d left Sayf. Maingan sniffed at the ground a bit.


    ¡°¡­He waited for Talvi,¡± she said.


    ¡°Not for us?¡± Rheannach asked.


    ¡°No.¡±


    ¡°Alright. Let¡¯s follow them.¡±


    Each step now felt gentler and lighter and freer. She was more herself here, back in the world that was more as she knew it. Next to the crushing weight of reality higher up, she now felt buoyed and free. The usual disparity between her own power and that of the world about her returned, strengthening her.


    They found Haust¡¯s camp easily enough. She¡¯d picked a glade where a huge mushroom circle grew, easily twenty meters across and dense with fruiting bodies, and she and Sayf were dancing together in its centre, twirling and laughing to the lively tune Talvi was playing on a bowed keyharp.


    The mere sight of them was enough to blow away Rheannach¡¯s pensive mood. She dashed into the circle and joined them, and spent a happy interval just being with them. They all had so many concerns, but here and now there was no sense in dwelling on them. Why be miserable, when there was a chance to seize joy? Time passed differently in the King¡¯s home; they wouldn¡¯t be late or delayed, no matter how they dallied.


    They were still high enough up for the revelry to tire them, but that was a joy in its own right. Eventually, they¡¯d had their fill of dancing and retired from the circle to sit on a fallen tree and talk.


    For Rheannach, hanging out with the three Crowns was rather like spending time with her favorite uncle, aunt and older cousin.


    Maicoh and Maingan of course weren¡¯t great for conversation. But they were good for cuddling up to and feeling warm. Between the happy feeling of exertion, and the pleasure of movement and music and company, there seemed to be nothing wrong with the world, for a little while.


    Haust, of course, was the one to finally bring them back to serious matters. ¡°He¡¯s been up there a lot longer than usual¡­¡± she noted after a while.


    ¡°Oh, don¡¯t start,¡± Sayf chided her gently. He was slowly and softly massaging Maicoh¡¯s ears, which seemed to have put the hound to sleep. ¡°He¡¯ll be up there as long as he needs to be.¡±


    ¡°But it is longer,¡± Talvi said.


    ¡°The work takes as long as it takes.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s never taken this long before,¡± Haust pointed out, almost fretting.


    ¡°We¡¯d know if anything was wrong.¡±


    ¡°True,¡± Rheannach agreed.


    Haust sighed, but nodded and relaxed again. ¡°How high did you go this time?¡±


    ¡°The saddle just below the third peak.¡±


    Sayf gave an impressed whistle. ¡°That¡¯s the furthest you¡¯ve gone yet, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    Rheannach nodded. ¡°The last hundred meters were¡­not easy.¡±


    ¡°I bet.¡±


    ¡°Only hard ¡®cuz you make it hard,¡± Maingan commented, lazily. She was draped over the log enjoying Talvi¡¯s cool fingers working on her own scalp.


    ¡°We don¡¯t all have your gifts, dear heart,¡± Talvi told her.


    ¡°Could.¡±


    ¡°No, love. Not and still be who we are.¡±


    Maingan yawned, gave the closest approximation to a shrug that a canine body could produce, and rested her jaw back on Talvi¡¯s lap. Her tail was wagging. ¡°Do like who you are¡­¡± she conceded.


    ¡°There we are, then.¡±


    The four humanoid ones traded knowing smiles, and subsided into waiting again. After a while, Sayf stirred. ¡°¡­Play again, Winter?¡±


    ¡°If you sing.¡±


    ¡°Sounds good.¡±


    Rheannach smiled, but stood and wandered away from them a little distance, until the music was just background noise and the chirping of nearby night crickets was louder. She turned her attention in a different direction, aimed it upwards toward the distant crescent of Garanhir.


    It was a hard thing, loving humans. They came and went so quickly, and in just a few short years they¡¯d go from childhood to age, and from there to the grave and whatever lay beyond it. She still remembered the various temptations the Fallen had whispered in her ear, long ago, about that subject. Now, those same temptations and machinations were putting humans she cared about in the thick of a war, and there was a good deal more at stake than their lives.


    Nimico in particular was a menace. But she was mortal now. Long extended through magic and power that no normal human could have learned yet, but still mortal. And that meant the rules protected her. Heralds didn¡¯t kill mortals except in very specific circumstances, and the Fallen were not stupid enough to invoke those circumstances¡­but they were damn well skirting the rules. Iaka had shown the way, and now Nimico had decided to create a couple of Wordspeakers as well. And, in her classic fashion, had elected to put them on opposite sides just to watch the fireworks.


    What would happen when the others followed suit?


    What if they already had?


    She shivered and looked back up the mountain. And hoped that at least one thing was going to plan¡­


    <hr>


    <h2>Crae Varthen</h2>


    The Craenen 09.06.03.13.03


    ¡°From that moment on, the Shades were a fact of life. And because Iaka was now mortal, their creation was technically a mortal affair, and so the Crowns don¡¯t interfere. After all, if they won¡¯t step in to rescue the victims of storm, flood, landslide and famine¡­¡±


    ¡°I know their reasoning,¡± Jerl said, patiently. ¡°I¡¯ve heard it directly from three of them, and more than one herald. Including yourself. Twice.¡±


    The Shishah laughed. ¡°Fair, fair! I won¡¯t belabor the point, then.¡±


    ¡°Why break the habit of a lifetime?¡± Jerl asked, archly.


    His reward was a throaty chuckle. ¡°Quite. Anyway¡­Iaka was never one to take mere abject and horrifying failure as an indication that maybe she was on the wrong path. After all, if the opprobrium of the Crowns themselves wasn¡¯t sufficient¡­¡±


    ¡°I get it. She¡¯s a fanatic.¡±


    ¡°Oh yes. Fanatical beyond ordinary mortal capability, in fact. So of course, rather than stepping back in horror at what she¡¯d done, she consoled herself that at least her beloved tribe were no longer suffering, and were granting their own kind of peace to others, and she thought long and hard about what she could learn from what happened.¡±


    ¡°How long?¡±


    ¡°Oh, thousands of years. There were other tribes in the fullness of time, of course. But she spent most of that long age in her tower, basking in the power of the lodehead, and contemplating knowledge obscure to everyone else. It¡¯s likely that she¡¯s the greatest scholar in all the worlds, when it comes to magic and its relationship to the spirit and the nature of personhood.¡±


    ¡°After the Crowns, you mean?¡±


    The Shisha shrugged. ¡°She was once a Herald, remember, and having created the Shades she devoted herself to the study of them with a devotion and focus you can¡¯t properly understand, for long enough that civilizations rose and fell unnoticed around her. And though the Crowns are old and learned even beyond my comprehension, they aren¡¯t omniscient. By the time Iaka felt ready for her second attempt at creating a world without suffering, she understood far more than she did the first time around. Perhaps, even, more than them. Who can say?¡±


    ¡°And her next step was¡­what? the hag elves?¡±


    ¡°Exactly.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡± Jerl asked.


    ¡°Because elves, by design, are bound to physical reality more tightly than humans. Their spirits reincarnate, their souls return time and again rather than move on. The Crowns deemed this necessary in the creation to create a kind of collective repository and memory. As a substitute for something I have never properly understood. But by their nature, elves are less¡­¡± he paused and searched for the right word.


    ¡°Ephemeral?¡± Jerl suggested.


    ¡°Less transitory. They aren¡¯t on their way to somewhere else. At least, not yet.¡± The Herald shrugged, neatly summarizing his feelings on a deep and daunting mystery with quite a simple, human gesture. ¡°How that helps Iaka, I don¡¯t know. She¡¯s the expert. All I know is¡­by the time she went to the Unelmasa Set, she knew exactly how it was going to play out.¡±


    He growled, at that. A deep, grumbling noise accompanied by a frown bordering on rage. ¡°And she still went and did it.¡±


    <hr>


    <h2>Interlude: the Dreaming Trees</h2>


    Nen Unelmasa, Manaar Earthmote Eight hundred years ago


    A stranger came to the Unelmasa Set, which was interesting in itself: There were very few Fey that Cofordmar Unelmasa did not remember from some point in his many lives. And he would have bet anything that he knew all those who shared the dream of one day reclaiming the Ordfey glory.


    But not this one.


    He was an Ithfey, his skin not just pale but faintly blue like glacial ice, with eyes as strikingly azure as meltwater. But the soul-name he gave¡ªHadan¡ªwas unknown to anyone in the Set.


    Still¡­he was a brother who spoke passionately about the days when the rightful order of things had lasted. Perhaps he had simply gone unnoticed until now, reincarnating time and again as an elf of meager means and ambition until this present Chal awoke some real purpose in him. Perhaps his next life would drag him back down to obscurity. Cofordmar did not know.


    Here and now, though, Hadan¡¯s passion was blinding. And he spoke of a new weapon that would put the kine back in their place.


    ¡°Magic.¡±


    Cofordmar and his inner circle glanced at each other, confused and uncertain. ¡°You¡­mean to teach us some new war-form?¡± Cofordmar ventured.


    ¡°Not a war-form. It is a¡­transformation, of sorts. One which will bind you permanently to the bodies you wear now. Rather than go through rebirth and a new childhood upon death, you would regenerate instead. Even if you were dismembered and the pieces scattered or burned to ash, you would return, whole and healthy.¡±


    There was some understandably skeptical scoffing around the Set¡¯s hearthfire, but Cofordmar leaned in to stare intently at the ithfey. ¡°¡­There is always a price.¡±


    ¡°Not in this case.¡± Hadan shook his head with a small smile.


    ¡°You expect me to believe in power without sacrifice?¡±


    Hadan angled his head slightly. ¡°That depends. We will be required to shed something, yes. But can it really be called a sacrifice if the thing we shed does nothing but hold us back?¡±


    ¡°What, exactly, would we be shedding?¡± Cofordmar pressed.


    ¡°Distractions. Lack of focus. Petty conceits and worries. Pain. Idleness. Fear.¡± Hadan smiled. ¡°We will be transformed in mind and body, this is true. But we will lose only our weaknesses, and gain true immortality. After that¡­imagine it. Imagine never having to worry about the future of the Set ever again. Imagine not having to hide and fret about whether your young will grow to become Penitents. Imagine never having to wear a vamdraech because even the Shades will hold no fear for us. That is the future my patron offers us.¡±


    The Unelmasa Set glanced at each other. Cofordmar saw his own doubts reflected in the Set¡¯s eyes¡­but also his hope. They were interested. And so, honestly, was he.


    He turned back to Hadan and leaned forward.


    ¡°Tell us more¡­¡±


    <hr>


    <h2>Beyond</h2>


    Orthogonal to reality and time.


    Force.


    There was no other word. In this featureless place of unspeakably hot energies, he felt only the primordial heat of creation boiling sweat out of his body, the light trying and failing to incinerate or blind him. His every step took actual effort, of the kind he¡¯d not felt since he was a real man, so very long ago in his woodland cabin up north¡­


    It was already much too big. Not dangerously so, but he was right to visit. It was still accelerating.


    He sighed, a sound lost in the maelstrom of energy about him. He took a hold of the vast sphere in front of him, far too big and bulky to really describe, like a man trying to shoulder a planet.


    He grunted, and strained, and began to crush it smaller. It took some time, in a place where time had no real meaning. Kicking, punching. Whole-body labor needed to make a dent. But a dent he made. He mauled at it until it was smaller, denser. Calculated violence, as if he were forging something with his feet and fists. Work. It fit in his arms now, heavy enough to grunt in effort.


    Wrestle with it. Knead it, work loose the knots of energies building within. Mix things up, maximize its future potential. This he did on every level of his being, but mostly he did it with his body, because the thing before him was still a purely physical object. He played with it almost as if it were a hard rubber wrestling dummy, another memory boiling up from so long ago. Always strange, that: here he could fully integrate and his life became much more present. Small memories from ?ons ago became as immediate and present as making love to Rhennach only a few hours ago, or so it seemed. And so he remembered: sports in school (even though he couldn¡¯t afford them, really), military training, bar brawls, a fight for life and death.


    Fights of other kinds, some beautiful, some terrible. Some recent, too¡ªwrestling with truth was a truth itself, one of the most ancient of mankind, and that struggle came in many, many forms.


    He was growing sentimental. Enough light work. He applied his full strength and smashed.


    Smaller. Fit in his hand. More force, straining now. A growl. Down to a pebble. Smaller. Smaller.


    With his full strength, with everything he had. A timeless, endless exertion until he had a mote of potential, bound under its own gravity. Not a singularity, something more marvelous.


    There. That ought to hold for a good long while, no matter how fast it wanted to grow.


    ¡­A nudge, in his soul. He¡¯d long learned to listen to it. He pondered the acceleration¡ª


    ¡­Well. That changed everything. He would need to meditate and pray, but¡­well, he didn¡¯t have much time anymore.


    He crushed on it a lot more, to buy a little more time. He worked on it until he felt his muscles begin to shake and his very soul strain at the task.


    That was as far as he could go, for now. His muscles were sore, and he had no spare strength left to give. Time to leave. Time to pass through the Real yet again. Time to grow far, far stronger.


    Time to accelerate plans. Time to mourn what could not be.


    Not yet.


    But soon enough.


    <hr>


    <h2>Crae Varthen</h2>


    The Craenen 09.06.03.13.03


    ¡°Hadan was Iaka, of course. The disguise even fooled me. Though I admit, I wasn¡¯t paying terribly close attention to the Unelmasa Set. They were just¡­wishful thinkers. The name meant ¡®Dreaming Woods¡¯, and that¡¯s all they were: dreamers. The fallen rump of an empire who never figured out how to move on and make do in the new world, they preferred instead to lurk bitterly in their forest and lament the good old days.¡±


    <¡°Your attention was on us, I would guess,¡±> a new voice interjected in Feydh.


    Jerl turned, and wondered how Ekve had managed to slip up and listen in on the conversation unnoticed. He certainly wasn¡¯t being stealthy: his skin was glowing, a faint white radiance like the reflected sunlight on distant snows. But his step was soundless, and the light from his body was enough to shoo the shades away from him.


    It was an effort though, Jerl could see. He¡¯d never heard of an elf using their magic to make themselves glow like that, but it clearly wasn¡¯t easy. Ekve¡¯s face was pinched with concentration.


    The Shishah tutted and gestured: all around them, the cobblestones and bricks started to shine, and the shades fled out of a circle of perfect illumination. ¡°There. You can relax, you idiot.¡±


    Ekve grunted, and sat down while his skin subsided to its usual hue. <¡°Thank you. I am right, though?¡±>


    ¡°You are.¡± The Shishah admitted, and Jerl felt a vague need to shake his head as though he¡¯d got water in his ear. He was hearing the Herald in Enerlish, he was certain of that¡­but somehow it sounded like he had spoken in Feydh as well. ¡°You had an earthmote, followers, and real plans. We all thought, if there was any danger of the Ordfey rising again, it would come from you.¡±


    ¡°So Iaka went after somebody less closely watched,¡± Jerl said.


    <¡°And more foolish,¡±> Ekve commented, settling himself comfortably. <¡°We would never have taken an offer like that.¡±>


    ¡°No? Even if it gave you your empire back?¡±


    Ekve chuckled mirthlessly. <¡°I was emperor of a million sadists,¡±> he pointed out. <¡°Over hundreds of lives I ruled them, and not by earning their love and loyalty, but by surviving their attempts to usurp me. I knew how to temper my hunger with caution, and I would have seen through ¡°Hadan¡± and his dissembling. But the Unelmasa Set¡­.they were nobodies. The children and reincarnations of nobodies who never had the wit and drive to earn real power in the Ordfey, nor to seriously pursue its reincarnation afterwards. They wanted the old days handed back to them on a tray, and were so hungry for it that they never questioned or thought about the offer.¡±>


    Jerl grunted bitterly. ¡°¡­I think I feel a certain kinship with them,¡± he muttered.


    <¡°You are more self-aware.¡±> Ekve tucked his heels up into a cross-legged posture.


    ¡°¡­Wait. Sin told me once that the Hag Elves were cursed by King E?rrach. She said everyone felt his anger and upset.¡±


    <¡°We did,¡±> Ekve nodded.


    ¡°And you misinterpreted it,¡± the Shishah told him. Ekve nodded solemnly.


    <¡°Oh yes. Having been directly on the receiving end of his¡­disappointment¡­I understand the difference, now.¡±>


    Jerl allowed the elf a brief silence. He¡¯d gotten used to having Ekve aboard the ship, and mostly he seemed to just tuck himself away in a corner where he would hold quiet conversations with whoever came to sit with him¡­which was mostly the R¨¹wyrdan elves. Sin avoided him, and only three of the humans were remotely fluent in Feydh¡ªJerl himself, Mouse, and Amir. He had seen Amir take the time to converse once or twice, but Amir was the sort to cheerily share the content of any discussion if it was remotely interesting.


    ¡­Unless it was confidential, of course. Hmm.


    ¡°So, what really happened?¡± he asked aloud. ¡°Who was he really angry at? Iaka?¡±


    The Shishah sighed. ¡°I don¡¯t think,¡± he said, ¡°he was angry at just one person¡­¡±


    <hr>


    <h2>Interlude: Nen Unelmasa</h2>


    It had been a long, long time since E?rrach had last felt anger like this. He¡¯d almost started to believe he was beyond it. Anger was the spur to action, the powerful sting that said ¡¯here is something that needs correcting.¡¯ But he¡¯d learned a long time ago not to do the first thing anger suggested. It was almost never the right move. And how many millions of years, how many billions of years had passed since the last time somebody did something it was worth getting genuinely enraged over?


    It had happened now, though.


    The anger was telling him to hunt down Iaka, drag her out of whatever protective bubble she had erected around herself, and annihilate her. It was certainly no less than she deserved¡­


    But damn her, she understood the rules he followed to an exacting degree. Apparently, she even understood the rationale behind them, too. Perhaps that was where the impotent rage in his fists and shoulders truly came from: how could somebody demonstrate so clearly that she understood, and still reject? It was¡­It was¡­


    Fury abruptly collapsed into a terrible sadness. To know the true path, but yet, to willingly turn aside from it¡­


    Her story was a tragedy. And she had dragged the Unelmasa in behind her¡­or¡­no. No, to say she¡¯d dragged them in was to suggest she¡¯d forced them into this, and deny them the agency they¡¯d demonstrated. She¡¯d invited them¡­and they had come with of their own free will.


    It was all¡­legal. It was all completely fucking legal.


    That was what really made him angry.


    He moved among the former Unelmasa Set shrouded in a way that was usually more Haust¡¯s thing, obscuring himself from their awareness. They were in the process of shedding nearly everything about who they had been. Personal effects, trinkets, favored decorations, even their clothes had been recycled for utility. After all, elves did not actually need clothing, not when they could use magic to insulate, warm or protect their bodies. They dressed only out of custom, habit, and longstanding convention.


    Their bodies had changed already. However the ritual that remade them had gone, it had given them new and almost entirely genderless forms, barely blemished at all by genitalia, mammary, or any trace of individuality. Now, they wore their hair in identical long warhawks, their androgynous bodies were bare of tattoo or scarification, and their faces were¡­averaged, somehow. And that was only the superficial, physical change.


    To E?rrach¡¯s deeper perception, the erasure of their indivuality went far, far deeper. Iaka could not have done a more complete job of homogenizing them at every level. Even their memories were shared, so that what one knew, all knew.


    And they all knew they had volunteered for this. They all remembered being told what would happen. They all remembered objecting at first¡­and then being talked around.


    She had left that for him specifically. There was no ensorcelment, no bewitching power, no mind control involved in this. Iaka had simply persuaded the Unelmasa Set to discard personhood, of their own volition.


    The anger boiled up again. How dare she rules-lawyer him?


    And yet¡­what could he do? This was what the Unelmasa had chosen, and the right of mortals to walk their path, to whatever end, was inviolate. And he had made Iaka mortal, so her right to do even this was equally inviolate. As sick as it made him¡­the real test she had put in front of him was whether he would betray his own most sacred principles in opposition.


    He would not. All he could do from now on was practice greater vigilance.


    He sat and watched them begin the process of erecting their statues. They wouldn¡¯t be complete for a couple of weeks, but he could see the shape of them in the insect-like simple intent of their remaining minds. Was that really what Iaka thought of him and the others? Or was there some other meaning behind it?


    Art interpretation had never been his thing, really. He¡¯d have to ask Sayf. Here and now¡­all he could do was make a statement of his own. Let it be unsubtle. A clear communication of his dissatisfaction.


    The laboring corrupted elves paused a second, then continued without even glancing around. But the forest reacted to his will instantly. In days, this place would reflect the evil wrought here. In a generation, the ¡°Dreaming Trees¡± would be a twisted, dark place that humans would hardly dare to whisper of, and elves would avoid. A crone forest, a place where the corruption Iaka had brought to its inhabitants would be visible¡­and which would follow them wherever they went.


    He found Rheannach waiting for him on the forest¡¯s outskirts and flopped down next to her. It had been a long, long time since he¡¯d last felt so drained. She took his hand and squeezed it.


    ¡°Bad?¡± she asked.


    He sighed. ¡°Nothing worse than some of the things I saw and heard of Before¡­but¡­¡±


    ¡°Ah. Bad, then.¡±


    ¡°People¡­insist on destroying themselves. And with power like hers, she can make it very literal.¡±


    She sighed, nodded, and looked away from him. And it was a funny thing, but there was nobody else in all the world who could be so opaque to him, when she really wanted. But of course¡­she was his perfect woman. And that was only possible because she wasn¡¯t a completely open book, even to him.


    ¡°What?¡± he asked.


    She stared off at nothing in particular for a long moment, then shifted her weight slightly and inhaled. ¡°Do you ever think you should have just destroyed them, instead? Her, and Nimico, Vedaun and Chathamugah?¡±


    ¡°¡­Sometimes.¡±


    ¡°Surely you knew they¡¯d be trouble?¡±


    ¡°Rhee¡­you know better than anyone how weird the relationship between Crown and Herald is. Are you my creation? My wife? My daughter? A little of all three and more besides¡­¡±


    She gave him a steadying look. ¡°You¡¯re too hard on yourself. Creation and wife, yes, but daughter? No. I don¡¯t have a father; I was never a little girl.¡±


    ¡°That just adds another layer of weirdness.¡±


    ¡°Maybe.¡± She shrugged, which had the interesting effect of making her wings flex. he loved her wings. Black and white magpie pinions, with a dark oil-slick rainbow sheen, complex and intricate and perfectly neither one thing nor another. Just what she was. ¡°But¡­I know you¡¯re strong enough to do what¡¯s right, when you must, no matter how painful it is.¡±


    ¡°Would destroying them have been right?¡±


    She looked at him, then glanced back toward the mutating heart of the forest and the twisted creatures building their statues within. ¡°She¡¯s not going to stop, you know. She¡¯ll keep doing this, making new monsters, until she manages what she¡¯s trying to do.¡±


    ¡°Then mortals must stop her.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯ll need help from us. From the Heralds, I mean.¡±


    ¡°Yes¡­¡±


    She treated him to an arch smile. ¡°But that¡¯s what we¡¯re for, right?¡±


    So, she was in a prickly mood. He just chuckled softly and shook his head, and her smile turned into a grin.


    ¡°So¡­what are you thinking?¡± he asked.


    Rheannach glanced back into the woods. ¡°¡­She¡¯s using some species of witchcraft. That¡¯s my territory, so I¡¯m going to fight fire with fire.¡±


    ¡°Sanctioned witches again?¡±


    She nodded. ¡°Assuming it looks likely to work¡­¡±


    ¡°I do like the subtlety of it.¡± He focused, turning his mind inwards to a power he didn¡¯t use often. ¡°¡­and it should work. Though, not without pain and sacrifice.¡±


    She sighed, and reached up to rub one of the stone beads on her necklace. By now, the habitual motion should have worn away the scratched stick-figure and runic inscription there, but she had preserved it over the long years. ¡°That¡¯s how it always goes when I get tangled up with mortals.¡±


    Something else tickled at E?rrach¡¯s senses. A possibility, though no more than that. It was all much too far in the future to pick out specifics, even for him. But¡­


    ¡°¡­Yeah. Sanctioned witches. You bring them to me, and I¡¯ll empower and bless them.¡±


    She smirked at him. ¡°And seduce them?¡±


    He mirrored her impish look. ¡°With their consent and yours, of course.¡±


    She snorted, leaned over, and they shared a tender kiss that did go some way to restoring his good humor. Then she was on her feet. Even as she rose, her wings tucked away into the folds of her dress, which grew a little thicker and coarser, shading from its usual translucent layers to something more rugged while her hair re-styled itself into the low braided bun fashionable among Craenen women. ¡°I suppose I should start nearby. The Craenen are going to need a buffer against these twisted elves.¡±


    ¡°True.¡± He thought of encouraging her to be careful, or patient, or something. But that would have been for his own benefit, not for hers. He didn¡¯t need to be in control of everything. ¡°I¡¯ll keep the bed warm.¡±


    She scrunched her nose playfully at him, and strode away amidst the trees. He felt the faint twist of space yielding to her will, opening a path between, and she was gone.


    He sighed happily. The perfect woman. She would handle things. It would take hundreds of years, of course¡­but he had the sense that they were doing the right thing. And that if they kept on doing it, there was someone in all their futures he would very much enjoy meeting.


    That was an encouraging thought to go home on.


    <hr>


    <h2>Crae Varthen</h2>


    The Craenen 09.06.03.13.03


    ¡°From there, you know the broad shape of it. Rheannach established her coven among the Craenen, and in the fullness of time came Saoirse Crow-Sight and Ellaenie Banmor.¡±


    Jerl nodded. ¡°I¡¯m still waiting for this to have anything to do with Deng-Nah or the reason we came to Crae Varthen,¡± he said.


    ¡°You haven¡¯t figured it out yet?¡±


    Jerl sighed. ¡°I¡¯m tired, I only have so much room in my brain, and I always did better with having things spelled out for me anyway.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re smarter than that, Jerl. But, fine. The reason Civorage was able to open his vault with the aid of the Shades was because Iaka wanted him to. He¡¯s her third experiment!¡± The Shishah gestured up at the vast ring of the Unbroken mote, just visible below the limb of the earthmote above them in the very edge of the sky. ¡°I mean, consider how vast the Unbroken Mote is, and how few people live there, and how tiny the odds were that Nils would happen to choose to dig right on top of a vault¡¯s burial chamber. And then¡­¡±


    He paused, and chuckled. ¡°The security on a vault is absolutely as befits its contents. The entire point of them is that nobody should gain access until they are ready for the power and responsibility that entails. But they are meant to be opened, in the fullness of time.¡±


    Jerl nodded. ¡°Because this creation is incomplete and the Crowns need our help in completing it.¡±


    ¡°Well¡­yes, but a rather larger part is that this is all about continuing a grand plan that has existed for¡­well. If I were to write a one with a hundred zeroes after it, I¡¯d be a tenth of the way there. But the largest part¡­¡±


    ¡°I know, I know. They¡¯re lonely and they want company.¡±


    ¡°More than either of us can possibly understand,¡± Ekve added.


    Jerl glanced at him, shrugged, and looked back out at the edge of their little pool of light, where the Shades were still stalking and watching them. ¡°But we¡¯re not supposed to get into them yet,¡± he said.


    The Shishah puffed his pipe. ¡°No. And Heralds aren¡¯t supposed to get into them at all, though we do know what¡¯s inside each one.¡±


    ¡°You do? Why¡¯d they give you that ability?¡±


    ¡°They couldn¡¯t make us what we are without that ability. But, we are forbidden from opening the vaults. They aren¡¯t for us.¡±


    ¡°¡­I see the loophole. Iaka knows what¡¯s in each vault, but can¡¯t open it. But all she needed was a way to convey that knowledge to a human proxy.¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°Why not just tell him?¡±


    ¡°The psychology of the individual, Jerl. Civorage is the right man for Iaka¡¯s plans, but he would never have truly believed her if she just told him what the vault contains. He would have suspected some ulterior motive, some plan or trap¡ª¡±


    ¡°Correctly,¡± Ekve interjected


    ¡°¡ªAnd that doubt would have kept the vault firmly shut. The only way for him particularly to open it was to stroke his ego. He would only accept the information if it seemed like he had figured it out for himself, when everbody else was too stupid. So¡­the shades whispered to him. But only to him.¡±


    Jerl shook his head. ¡°Hang on, hang on. That¡¯s not right. They whispered to me. That¡¯s how I got the Time vault open!¡±


    ¡°Were you the one who completed the puzzle and broke the seal?¡±


    ¡°I¡ª¡± Jerl hesitated. ¡°¡­Oh. No.¡±


    ¡°No.¡± The Shishah grinned. ¡°Civorage opened it for you. Then, a man you thought was dead intervened at exactly the right second so the open vault fell into your hand rather than his.¡±


    Jerl exhaled. ¡°Lady Talvi said the Words have a¡­will or an agenda. Or something. That they¡¯ll influence events.¡±


    ¡°And what better for influencing events than Time itself? All it had to do was pick which particular branch of events you were in.¡± The Shishah puffed out a long streamer of smoke. ¡°Perhaps Deng-Nah is destined to open his vault and speak the Word within. I don¡¯t know. But he won¡¯t do it using Iaka¡¯s own trick. She¡¯s too cunning and cautious to leave an opportunity her foes could exploit.¡±


    Jerl sighed heavily. ¡°So we¡¯re back to square one.¡±


    ¡°No you aren¡¯t, stop with the self pity.¡± The Shishah snorted, forming two last little clouds.


    Ekve nodded. ¡°We have new knowledge. That is progress.¡±


    It was Jerl¡¯s turn to snort. He looked away from them, back toward the Shades. ¡°¡­no. Knowing that you wasted your time isn¡¯t worth shit,¡± he said. ¡°But¡­I did get to see my dad. For that at least, this whole trip might have been worthwhile.¡±


    There was a long silence. Eventually, he looked back at the Shishah. ¡°What¡¯s happening elsewhere in the worlds?¡±


    ¡°Ellaenie has just reclaimed the Ducal Palace in Auldenheigh, and marched an army of Yunei soldiers into the city. She¡¯s in the middle of levying an army, but the city will be under siege very soon, surrounded by superior numbers of better-equipped men, all directed by a single will even if they themselves are not Encircled.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re saying she can¡¯t win.¡±


    ¡°She has¡­certain advantages on her side,¡± the Shishah granted. ¡°But¡­no. I don¡¯t think she can. Not without support from elsewhere.¡±


    Jerl looked to Ekve, who simply cocked his head as though intrigued to see what he would do next. Then he looked to the Shishah, who was smiling faintly with that infuriating ¡®I-know-something-you-don¡¯t¡¯ manner.


    An idea struck him, an intuition or premonition from his power, and he gestured to the pouch on the Shisha¡¯s belt. ¡°¡­Give me some of that.¡±


    The Herald¡¯s smile grew larger. ¡°Now? In the midst of eclipse?¡±


    ¡°I trust you to keep me safe.¡±


    The smile faded into a solemn nod. ¡°Yes. I will.¡± He removed the pouch and handed it over. ¡°Take only a small pinch. And remember, this isn¡¯t a drug you¡¯re taking, it¡¯s a key. Focus your mind on what it is you wish to unlock before you imbibe.¡±


    Jerl nodded, and followed the instruction. He added a few shreds to his own pipe¡¯s bowl along with a healthy dose of his own tobacco, lit up, tamped it down, banked and cultivated it until it was just right, then looked around, trying to focus his mind. What was he trying to unlock?


    Something he needed. Some facet of the Word¡¯s power that he¡¯d locked away, but which he needed now. He neededto see again, where his choices would lead. He couldn¡¯t keep on staggering blindly from premonition to premonition.


    He grasped that thought tightly. He could vaguely, vaguely remember what it had been like when he first spoke the Word, and the way he had seen things then. That was what he wished to unlock. He held the sensation of it, the faint echo of memory, and imbibed.


    He felt the effect immediately.


    <hr>


    <h2>Bottom of the Mountain</h2>


    E?rrach¡¯s Earthmote 09.06.03.13.03


    Maingan sensed him first, of course. Her head came up, her nose twitched, she whined, and then she and Maicoh were scampering off to go welcome their master back.


    E?rrach was in a thoughtful mood as he returned, so that even their happy bouncing and swirling around his ankles didn¡¯t elicit more than a faint smile and some ear-scritches, followed by grabbing a log and throwing it across the lake with a thundercrack that knocked leaves and blossoms from the nearby trees.


    Both hounds vanished after it in a pair of sonic booms of their own, and he watched them go with a grin before ambling over to the fallen tree the rest of them were lounging and sitting on, and flopping against it with a sigh. ¡°Done.¡±


    ¡°It took a lot more out of you, this time,¡± Sayf commented, sliding down to inspect him.


    E?rrach nodded. ¡°Biggest it¡¯s ever been. I¡¯m actually¡­tired.¡±


    ¡°How big?¡±


    He told them. The three Crowns considered the implications of that while Rheannach set her iron teapot by the fire to brew him a drink.


    ¡°It¡¯s all going so fast¡­¡± Talvi said.


    ¡°Yes. So much faster than we expected or wanted it to. I don¡¯t know if it¡¯s reacting to the Words, or if the Words are reacting to it, but¡­¡±


    ¡°Or maybe they¡¯re both reacting to a third thing.¡± Sayf said, quietly.


    ¡°Maybe.¡±


    There were nods around the little gathering.


    ¡°¡­How is little Saoirse, anyway?¡± Haust asked.


    Sayf chuckled. ¡°Annoyed with me.¡±


    ¡°Oh?¡±


    ¡°She wanted to be here, to see all of you. When I told her she wasn¡¯t ready for this, I got quite the little sulk.¡±


    Fond chuckles. Rheannach spooned some leaves into a cup for her husband, then sat comfortably to let the water reach temperature. ¡°What would happen if you¡¯d brought her here?¡±


    E?rrach shrugged and shook his head. ¡°Hard to say. It might be she¡¯d have tired out barely ten steps up the slope¡­or maybe she¡¯d have strolled right to the top and even been able to go through. If she did, she¡¯d never have the will to come back. She¡¯s still a child, even if there¡¯s a Crown in her future.¡±


    ¡°One who¡¯s doing everything in her power to come to pass,¡± Talvi murmured softly. ¡°Retrocausal communication with her present self from potential futures? I can¡¯t do that.¡±


    ¡°Not only that, she did it despite there being many futures where she lives an ordinary mortal life,¡± Haust added.


    ¡°It was quite a feat,¡± Sayf agreed with a sigh. ¡°And it saved Lisze¡¯s life. Not that Lisze has the faintest idea what happened or how significant it is.¡±


    ¡°Does Saoirse?¡±


    Sayf shrugged. ¡°I¡¯m not going to burden her with expectation. But she will, if she does become one of us.¡±


    Rheannach moved the teapot off the fire to let it cool back down to the perfect brewing temperature. ¡°How likely is is it that she¡¯ll¡ª?¡± she began.


    She didn¡¯t finish. The sensation that interrupted her was distinctive, and astonishing. All five of them rose to their fet and turned to look in the same direction, turning their attention toward Crae Varthen as energies only they could sense started washing across them. Here in this place, in the shallows of the Mountain, it created ripples that surged through the trees like the outriders of a hurricane., and they all sensed the world shift and change as an inexperienced mind went searching.


    And from somewhere else, another inexperienced mind answered.


    <hr>


    <h2>Time seen from above</h2>


    Crae Varthen 09.06.03.13.03


    It¡¯s scary, isn¡¯t it?


    Time was a landscape of river channels, of potential cutting through the icy plains of impossibility. From here, Jerl could see why he¡¯d gotten lost: the path he¡¯d been following didn¡¯t even exist any longer. Somebody else had removed it. He could see the empty, dry scar of a what-could-have-been that had once been his intended course.


    That¡¯s life, he thought. You chart your course, but other forces have a say.


    Doesn¡¯t that scare you?


    Visions of what-could-have-beens that hadn¡¯t been. Smoke coiled in his mind, parting to reveal moments that never were: his own startled face with a neat bullet hole through the forehead, flat on the floor of a warehouse; the taste of blood as the hag elves¡¯ hounds caught him and tore his throat open; unconscious death in a fireball as the Queen slammed into the Unbroken Mote. Deaths he had avoided by narrow margins, but which others had been trying so hard to inflict¡­


    That¡¯s life, he thought again. We aren¡¯t alone. Everyone else gets a say¡­yes. It¡¯s scary.


    He saw green eyes in a round, pretty face. They smiled at him, and the smile was many things at once: gap-toothed childish innocence, carefree youth, timid, sultry, kind, stern, wise¡­


    Fear doesn¡¯t stop us.


    No. True. Even if it did, even if the hand on the wheel went rigid with indecision, other forces still had their say. The journey didn¡¯t halt just because of one man¡¯s paralysis. It simply surrendered him to the will of others. And I am just one man.


    And I am just a little girl.


    I know. I met you.


    But one day¡­


    Jerl coughed slightly on a mouthful of smoke. Out loud, he mumbled something. A question.


    ¡°Does the future get a say in the present?¡±


    Beside him, the Shishah chuckled. ¡°All the time.¡±


    All the time.


    Chart a course. And if the wind or the actions of others force you off it¡­


    Chart a new one.


    Vistas unrolled. With his ordinary eyes, Jerl saw only light and shades, and two watchful figures guarding him. But his sight was elsewhere.


    Again and again.


    Until you arrive at your destination.


    Which may not be where you planned to go.


    Other people get a say.


    ¡­.What do you want?


    Amusement.


    I want to stay up and wait for daddy to come home. I want my mummy. I want a banana. I want Aunty Lisze to read me a story. I want to play with Shrub.


    A vision of a stuffed toy doy, well-loved and always kept close. A dozen other simple, selfish, childish wants. But behind them¡­


    Behind the girl was a woman, waiting to be, wanting to be, trying to be. And that word meant so, so much and encompassed so many thousands of tiny transformations, expectations, burdens, freedoms, ought-to-bes and ideas. Jerl inhaled sharply, bowled end-over-end by the sensation of an entire gender and an infinity of anticipated lives hitting him in the head.


    ¡°What do you see?¡± Shishah asked.


    He didn¡¯t answer. Well, maybe he mumbled something.


    Where do you want to go? And remember¡­everyone else gets a say.


    Where he truly wanted to go wasn¡¯t an option. He wanted to go back, to before. In his heart, in his core, Jerl didn¡¯t want any of this. He never had.


    So what was in second place?


    Green eyes watched him carefully, and asked for help. And he had to confess¡­every course in that direction looked pretty good.


    Specifics. Details. A plan.


    Let me help. Start¡­here.


    ¡­Yes.


    He lurched to his feet. They felt like they were far below him, at the end of long ropes in a high gale, and they wouldn¡¯t go quite where he wanted them to, but a hand on his arm helped him. Altered his course.


    Everyone gets a say.


    But this one was saying he wanted to go where Jerl wanted to go. This one was trimming the rudder against a squall.


    Everyone gets a say, including you.


    Door. The Jolly Tar. Opened it after a moment of hard concentration. Deng-Nah looked up from the cube and frowned at him. ¡°¡­What¡ª?¡±


    ¡°Wrong approach,¡± Jerl told him. ¡°This won¡¯t work.¡±


    Deng-Nah¡¯s frown deepened. ¡°So this was¡­waste of time?¡±


    Jerl grinned and flopped down in the chair opposite him. ¡°No¡­¡¯cuz now we know how it doesn¡¯t go.¡±


    ¡°¡­You¡¯re drunk.¡±


    ¡°Yeah. Only way. Had to reawaken some things I¡¯d locked off¡­¡± Jerl grinned manically and tipped his head back. The Shishah¡¯s leaf was fading fast, and the vision of the green-eyed girl was going with it, but he still remembered enough.


    Deng-Nah simply watched him. ¡°¡­Explain.¡±


    ¡°This whole thing was groping blind in the dark. That needs to stop. I have the power to see further, and I need to use it, ¡®cuz there¡¯s¡­.there¡¯s an important future coming. Or¡­there can be. It can still not happen, if things don¡¯t go the right ways. We came here to get that vault open because I didn¡¯t have any better ideas. but this was the wrong way. This whole way with the Shades whispering? This is Nils Civorage¡¯s way.¡±


    Deng-Nah¡¯s expression remained patiently stoic. ¡°So, why I can¡¯t use it?¡± he asked


    ¡°Because it¡¯s specifically his way. The way chosen for him. Buuut¡­there¡¯s another way. A way chosen for somebody else. And you can use that. Or rather, she can use it. And in return¡ªwell, she¡¯d do it anyway, no need for tit-for-tat¡ª¡±


    ¡°¡­Tit?¡± Deng-Nah asked suspiciously.


    ¡°Nevermind. Point is¡­¡± Jerl focused. The drug¡¯s potency had worn of substantially, but he was still feeling very¡­open. Staying on course was a little tricky. ¡°Point is¡­there¡¯s a battle coming. Or really, it¡¯s already started. And it might or might not go badly if we aren¡¯t there. But we can be there, and we can make a difference¡­and you¡¯ll see what happens when we do.¡±


    He looked up for the Shishah, but the Herald had apparently never actually followed him through the door. He¡¯d done what he¡¯d come to do and vanished again.


    ¡°So, where we going?¡±


    Jerl grinned at him.


    ¡°To begin with? A place called Lendwick.¡±